The Fall of Dreams
by Vanilla Cookie
Summary: Galbatorix searches for the flower of immortality, while the Varden tries to find it before him. Meanwhile, Murtagh struggles to break free from the king's control... and to stay away from a woman he's not meant to be with.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

**Author's Note: Guys, before you dismiss this story because the main female character is an OC, please note that she does not look like Miss Universe, she cannot shoot fire out of her eyes and her name is not 50 words long. Now that we got that out of the way, I hope you like the story:)**

* * *

The feebly flickering flames in the wall torches didn't manage to light up the large throne room completely – they were no match for the sunlight which this grim castle never saw. Yet the King took pleasure in living in constant twilight. The dark atmosphere suited his frame of mind. And he was furious now; barely restraining himself from crushing the skulls of the useless slaves crouched before him, he listened to their words and his rage grew with every passing second.

'You are saying,' Galbatorix began coldly, stroking the handle of his sword, 'that you failed to capture a _boy_ half your age, a boy with practically no experience?'

'He was not alone, Majesty,' one of the men mumbled, keeping his eyes averted from the King's. 'His dragon and the traitor Murtagh…'

Galbatorix frowned at the mention of Murtagh. Shruikan, curled on the floor behind him, raised his head and breathed out a thin cloud of smoke, sensing his Rider's mood. After Morzan's death, Galbatorix allowed Murtagh to stay in his castle and even gave him academic and military education. However, the king was far from being sentimental. When Murtagh betrayed the Empire, he ordered his army to kill the boy if they spotted him.

'Your pathetic excuses,' Galbatorix interrupted the soldier in the same indifferent tone, 'do not interest me. I do not want to be disappointed even more. Leave me, and send for Medea.'

* * *

Medea entered the throne room, trying to ignore the goose bumps that instantly appeared on her bare arms. She'd been urgently summoned during her archery practice and was still dressed lightly. _'No matter what time of year it is outside, in here it's always winter,' _she thought fleetingly.  
She approached Galbatorix, wondering what he needed her for. Normally he had little to no interest in her, and Medea knew that spending time with her, which he did very rarely, was equal to a tiresome chore to him. As she grew older, she stopped seeking her father's company.

Galbatorix looked up when she approached. 'Medea. I have decided that it's time for you to prove your worth and loyalty to me and to the Empire. It seems I cannot count on my own men to do a simple task, so I am passing it over to you.'

_'My worth. I have to prove my WORTH to my own father.'_

Medea didn't voice her thoughts, knowing all too well what would follow. Instead, she inclined her head, saying, 'It is an honour, father.'

'I want you to capture the Rider Eragon and his dragon,' the king carried on speaking, watching her reaction closely. 'Bring them here. I do not need Murtagh, however. You can deal with him as you wish.'

Medea's eyes widened in surprise. Overpowering two men and a dragon was considered a simple task? Two men, at least one of whom had proven more than once to be more skilled than her in combat. A dragon, against whom she _certainly _had no chance. This was a mission which seemed almost designed to make her fail. As if Galbatorix did not truly expect her to succeed, but was simply testing her willingness to do his bidding at the expense of her own life. She wouldn't put it past him.

She did not know Eragon, having only heard of him. But she and Murtagh grew up together, receiving the same education and similar treatment. Yet for as long as she could remember, Galbatorix favoured Murtagh over her, showing more interest in him, perhaps seeing that he had more potential; this alone was enough to destroy all friendliness between Medea and Murtagh. When they were younger, the height of their imagination was playing fairly harmless pranks on one another. But as they got older, their mutual dislike took on a more serious character. Now they competed at everything they could think of: archery, running, swordsmanship… And, as Medea reluctantly recalled, the strong, fast-learning Murtagh won most of the time.

Then suddenly Murtagh left. Medea's life got a lot easier. But little as she liked him, the idea of murdering her only childhood companion, the person she had known all her life, made her uneasy.

'You may take the Ra'zac with you,' Galbatorix's voice interrupted her thoughts. 'I am sure they will be enough. Leave as soon as you are ready.'

Medea's dark eyes hardened. She was hoping for her own sake that her heart did, too.

* * *

'_You know, I'm worried about him.' _Eragon told Saphira, pointing at Murtagh, who has been sitting on a rotten log nearby for a while without moving or saying a word. His almond-shaped grey eyes never left the horizon.

'_Leave him alone, little one. The fact that he's not as noisy as you doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him,' _the sapphire dragon replied indolently, her heavy lids half-closed.

Eragon considered this for a moment, then crawled across the long grass towards Murtagh, making a deep growling sound and pretending to bite him on the leg. Without looking around, Murtagh grabbed the younger boy's hair, holding his head at a distance. Eragon snapped his jaws a few times and gave up.

'Can you stop being boring and talk to me?' He enquired when Murtagh let him go.

'You've got Saphira to talk to.'

'But she's asleep,' Eragon pointed out, sitting down on the ground beside Murtagh. 'And you're not doing anything, anyway.'

Murtagh let out a small sigh. He didn't feel like explaining that _thinking_ actually was _doing something_. 'All right. I think we should…' he stopped mid-sentence and jumped up, drawing his sword. Eragon quickly did the same, taking a step towards Saphira, who awoke instantly.

A thin-bladed dagger cut through the cool air, pinning the bottom of Murtagh's cloak to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed two shadows descend from the trees above and slip behind his back. Hearing Eragon cry out in alarm, he started forward, ripping his cloak free, to see a third figure walking calmly towards him, its face concealed by a light helmet. The person stopped a few feet away from Murtagh and drew their sword, clearly challenging him. Behind him Saphira roared in anger, tearing at a Ra'zac with her claws while Eragon clashed swords with the other one. Murtagh noticed that, oddly, both Ra'zac aimed to injure the dragon and his rider, not to kill them.

The third person appeared to be human. Without saying a word, the soldier started moving to the right, still facing Murtagh, who shortened the distance between them and slashed at the other man with his sword. The soldier counter-attacked with a series of quick blows, forcing Murtagh back. He wasn't as strong as the son of Morzan but his fighting technique was very similar, and he was light and quick on his feet.

They carried on exchanging futile blows, and only once Murtagh's rival managed to reach his body, cutting him on the shoulder. The cut wasn't deep, but from then on Murtagh kept his distance, mostly defending himself and occasionally lunging forward. Trying to avoid a particularly dangerous blow, the soldier slipped and lost his balance. Taking advantage, Murtagh knocked the helmet off his head and pushed him roughly on the ground to finish him off – and froze when he realised who was in front of him.

A very familiar-looking girl lay on her side, still clutching her sword, her face screwed up in pain. Murtagh kneeled next to her. 'Medea?'

The girl opened her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Medea sat up, picking blades of grass out of her hair. 'It's nice to know you don't forget old friends,' she muttered without looking at Murtagh. The humiliation of being overpowered by him _again_ was burning into her like hot iron. Even her father's rage when he found out that she had failed him and the inevitable punishment which would follow seemed unimportant compared to the mortification she felt in that moment.

Murtagh, who was still kneeling next to her, flashed a crooked smile. 'Friends? You must be mistaking me for someone else, princess.' He turned around to see Eragon sitting on the ground by Saphira's side, glancing from him to Medea curiously. 'What happened to the Ra'zac?'

'They fled.' Eragon replied, frowning in confusion. 'It's odd, the way they had more than enough opportunities to kill us, but they didn't even attempt to use them.'

'I figure they were supposed to capture you and Saphira, and Medea was going to deal with me. When both failed, the Ra'zac fled to report our location back to Galbatorix, who is probably assembling his army right now.' Murtagh stood up. 'We need to move.'

'What about her?' Eragon pointed at Medea with a jerk of his head. 'You seem to know her. But whoever she is, she tried to take your life. We can't let her go.'

Medea rested her chin on her knees, tracing the blade of her sword with a finger. Seeing Murtagh again brought too many memories back.

* * *

'_Why are you even thinking things like that?' Medea demands, placing her small hands on her hips. She drops her sword in the dust and leaves it there, clearly stating that the practise is over. Her normally fair face is red with anger as she takes a step towards Murtagh, peering up at him. 'You can't leave! Father will never allow you to. And if you go without his permission, you will become a traitor, an enemy of the Empire! Is that what you want?' _

_She can't explain why it matters to her so much. But the thought of him leaving her here, alone, makes her furious._

'_I didn't say I was going to leave!' Murtagh answers, irritated. 'I was just wondering what life is like outside the castle grounds. Don't you ever?'_

_Medea ignores his question. 'You'll find out soon enough. Father is planning to send you to Cantos on a campaign.' She turns away, leaning on the fence of the enclosure which they usually use for practising swordsmanship. This time Murtagh dismissed Tornac, his servant and teacher, so there is no one around to overhear their conversation._

'_Aren't you coming, too?'_

'_No. Father values your life less than mine.' Medea snaps at him, her eyes full of angry tears. She tries to hide her hurt, knowing that what she said isn't true… and knowing that what _he_ said isn't true either._

_Murtagh freezes for a moment. 'And you don't value my life at all.' He turns around and strides out, leaving her standing there alone._

* * *

Unwilling to move, Murtagh looked at Medea while Eragon and Saphira's eyes bore into his back expectantly. It has been more than a year since he last saw her, but it felt like she hadn't changed at all. Each gesture was as familiar to him as his own. Yes, they were never friends, and yes, they never particularly liked each other. Yet it was obvious that she hadn't truly wanted to kill him. And neither did he want to kill her.  
He sheathed his sword and, walking up to Medea, pulled her up on her feet.

Eragon's eyes narrowed. 'Murtagh…'

'I don't want to discuss this,' Murtagh cut him off. 'She's coming with us.'

Medea lifted her eyes to look at him, frowning in evident surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, but Murtagh spoke first, lowering his voice so only she could hear. 'Remember how angry you were when I said that I wanted to leave Uru'baen? It was because you wanted to leave as well, wasn't it? Now I am offering you that chance.'

She didn't reply. She didn't have to; the look of desperate longing on her face told Murtagh that he was not mistaken. 'You didn't come on foot, did you? Where's your horse?' He asked Medea. She pointed to the trees behind them. 'I'll go get it. You stay here.'

Eragon and Saphira exchanged puzzled glances. It was not like Murtagh to spare the life of someone who tried to take his own. And bringing one of Galbatorix' minions to the _Varden_ was unheard of. _'Has Murtagh lost his mind? What is he thinking?'_

Saphira cocked her head to the side, watching Medea warily. _'Perhaps the girl means something to him.'_

'_He said he hated the Empire. Why would someone who is a part of it be important to him?'_

Murtagh returned, leading a fine black stallion.

'Come on. We can't lose any more time.' He dropped the reins in Medea's outstretched hand and mounted his grey warhorse; Eragon took Snowfire while Saphira flew up, above the emerald tree crowns, and easily got ahead of them.

They set off.

* * *

_She shivers in her light nightgown, hugging herself as she stands by the open window of her bedchamber watching the two cloaked riders approach the front gates. Soldiers wearing suits of steel armour suddenly appear out of the dark, startling the riders, who halt and draw their swords. For a few minutes she can only hear the clashing of weapons… then one of the riders falls of his mount, landing with a dull thump._

_The other continues fighting until his opponents lie before him, slain. He glances back at his dead friend, but he has no time to attend to him – more soldiers are rushing to the spot, and he has to flee. Just before he gallops through the gates, he looks up, as if he knows that she is watching. And suddenly she knows who he is._

_Medea sprints to Murtagh's quarters and bursts in without knocking. His room is empty, and his possessions gone._

* * *

'Here. In case you get cold during the night.' Medea accepted the blanket offered to her with a nod and wrapped it around her shoulders. She ought to say something so as not to appear ungrateful – she didn't even thank Murtagh for sparing her life yet - but she couldn't bring herself to.

'Will you let me tend to your wound?' She asked finally.

'It's nothing.'

'It's the least I can do,' she insisted quietly. Murtagh stared at her suspiciously for a moment, and then removed his tunic, wincing in pain – the fabric stuck to the bleeding cut on his shoulder. Medea ripped two long pieces of cloth off and carefully poured water from her flask on the wound, touching it gingerly with one piece of material. 'Can I ask you something?'

He nodded silently. She took a deep breath. 'Why didn't you kill me?'

Murtagh turned his head towards her, fixing his light eyes on her once again. 'Because you didn't deserve this kind of punishment. You were acting on your father's orders, were you not?'

'Yes, but to bring the daughter of Galbatorix into the Varden…'

'You can leave now if you want,' Murtagh responded calmly, taking the second piece of cloth from her hands and bandaging his injury. 'You won't be able to tell Galbatorix where we are; I doubt you'll even find your way back from here. But is that really what you want?'

He knew it wasn't what she wanted. He knew her well.

'I'll think about it,' she replied grumpily, unwilling to admit that he was right.

Murtagh hid a smirk. 'Suit yourself.'

Without another word, Medea spread her blanket on the ground and lay down on it with her back to Murtagh. The Rider lay awake until he heard Medea breathing steadily in her sleep. He got up, covered her with his own blanket and, stretching out near her, closed his eyes.

* * *

**A.N.: **Daylight Crazyness - **you're right. The story takes place during Eragon and Murtagh's journey to the Varden, but I decided not to include Arya here because that would confuse the plot.  
**formerAnnie, little-pocketmouse, NyxDragon2023 – **thank you very much for your kind words. :)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The frustrating thing about sleeping on the ground is that you wake up much earlier than you would like to, and after that it's impossible to go back to sleep.  
Murtagh awoke from a sore pain in his right elbow, and, reluctantly opening his eyes, removed a sharp stone from underneath it. He glanced at Medea, noticing uneasily that at some point during the night his other arm crawled over her waist, and her head was resting on his chest. Careful not to wake her up, Murtagh inched away from her and stood up, looking around for Eragon and Saphira. They were nowhere to be found.

'_Have they seen?' _He wondered, walking quickly forward, towards the deeper part of the forest. His cheeks were still flushed, and he kicked at random pebbles angrily, although it wasn't clear even to Murtagh what exactly was bothering him. Surely he couldn't be held responsible for what his limbs did while he was asleep.

But if Eragon or Saphira saw, he had a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

'_Go away,' Medea says without looking around as the door of her bedchamber opens. She already knows who just walked in, and it's the last person she wants to see right now. Or ever. 'What do you want?' _

'_I'm leaving for Cantos in the morning,' Murtagh replies calmly, walking inside. He pauses, watching her reaction as she paces the room tensely, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. He waits for some kind of response, but Medea stays silent. 'If you want to say goodbye before I go, now is the time.'_

_She chucks the wet towel at him. 'Do you actually expect me to even speak to you after you pushed me in a pond? Look at me! I'm covered in slimy green… stuff!' Medea shudders in disgust, shaking soggy leaves off herself. Murtagh hides a smile. 'Besides, you'll be back before I start to miss you. What's the point of farewells?' She stops pacing and sits on her bed, ignoring the water that is still dripping off her drenched clothes._

'_You wouldn't miss me if I was gone for years!'_

_'You're right, for once.'_

* * *

The rough ground under Medea suddenly became suspiciously soft, and the dirty rug that was supposed to serve as a blanket felt a lot larger and heavier than she remembered. The best thing of all was that she was warm at last, and the hilt of her sword, which she kept by her side during the night, wasn't digging into her ribs any more. _'Wait… where's the sword?' _And she was awake in an instant.

A thin silver-haired woman was sitting in a chair by Medea's bed. Her emerald eyes were studying the girl disapprovingly, but there was no anger on her kind face. 'You're awake,' she said quietly, taking a glass of water from the bedside table and handing it to Medea, who drank eagerly. 'The king is not pleased.'

'I can imagine,' Medea replied, sitting up. 'Barbale, what… how did I get home? I don't remember…' Barbale raised her. She trusted the old woman with her life.

'After the king found out that you have been captured, he sent the Ra'zac to bring you back. They kept you asleep with magic during the whole journey.'

'There was no need!' Medea exclaimed, unable to conceal her disappointment. Barbale raised her eyebrows, and Medea quickly added: 'how does father expect me to prove myself if he doesn't even give me a chance?'

'Nonsense!' Barbale interrupted crossly. 'You're much too young to be sent on tasks like this, especially alone. You should be grateful,' she lowered her voice and moved her chair closer to the bed. 'It's a wonder that you're still alive.'

For a long time Medea was silent. For once, she had allowed herself hope, and it was shattered in an instant. Her freedom was taken away from her as easily as it was given.  
After a while she looked up at Barbale. 'What now?'

'Get changed,' the old nurse put a clean set of clothes on the bed. 'The king is waiting for you in the throne room.'

* * *

'I could say "I told you so" but I'll be tactful.' Eragon declared, walking a fifth circle around the campsite.

'I still don't understand how she could have left without any of us noticing,' Murtagh said. 'Without a horse!' Medea's black stallion was still tied to a tree next to Tornac, but his owner was nowhere to be found. 'I didn't think...'

Eragon stopped pacing. 'You didn't think that she'd leave? Wouldn't that be the most _obvious_ thing for her to do? I was counting on you to watch her, Murtagh!' When the older man stayed silent, Eragon turned to Saphira exasperatedly. '_I'm not sure I can restrain myself from strangling him right now.'_

'I need to go after her.' Murtagh said to himself, his expression unreadable.

'There's no point now. She probably already told Galbatorix where we are. The wisest thing to do now is to keep moving.'

'You don't understand,' Murtagh stood up swiftly and, walking over to Tornac, untied him. 'She didn't want to go back there. And even if she changed her mind, she wouldn't leave her horse because she wouldn't have been able to get far on foot. I have to go after her.' Before Eragon had a chance to react, he mounted his stallion and galloped away, raising a cloud of dust.

'_Is he possessed?' _Eragon stared after Murtagh, too shocked to move.

Saphira sighed. _'He has his reasons, little one. But we cannot let him go to Uru'baen alone.'_ Noticing that Eragon started untying Snowfire, she shook her massive head impatiently. _'No, leave the pathetic animal. We will fly.'_

* * *

Medea watched the guards close the main gates from the window of her bedroom, like she had so many times before. It was still hard to get used to the fact that she was back home, even though she had only been absent for a couple of days. It felt wrong, somehow, as if she wasn't supposed to be here. To her surprise, the King hadn't decided on her punishment yet, merely expressing his disappointment at her.

Throughout the whole day she sat in her room, sulking. Barbale came in several times, but Medea wasn't in the mood to talk. She didn't go out to practise swordsmanship and archery, like usual. She didn't want to go riding, and her mood only got worse when she found out that the Ra'zac left her horse in the forest.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Medea glanced at the window, startled, but it was pitch black outside – the guards already closed the gates and put out most of the lights. She heard another knock, this time louder and more impatient. Moving slightly away, she picked up her sword from underneath the bed and yanked the window open. Immediately a figure dressed in a black cloak fell through and landed on the hard marble floor, cursing inaudibly.

Medea walked around the intruder and peered down at his face. Her eyes widened when she recognised him. 'What, in the name of…'

'Don't bother thanking me,' Murtagh said with a smug grin, turning around to lie on his back.

'Are you mad? Why have you come here? What if someone sees you?' She whispered anxiously as he stood up.

Murtagh's smile faded. He stood facing her, his arms folded on his chest. Medea looked down, unable to stand the intensity of his gaze. 'Because I shouldn't have left you behind in the first place, when I knew that you didn't want to be here,' he said simply. 'And I think that you deserve better than devoting your life to helping a tyrant.' He paused. 'Will you come?'

'She will not,' a cold voice replied from behind them.

Murtagh slowly turned around.

* * *

**A.N.: **formerAnnie – **I agree! It's such a cliché. Don't worry, I wasn't going to include it.**  
little-pocketmouse – **oh yes… that they do :) I hope it's not too weird, though.**  
Marshpelt – **I confess, I'm not good with action scenes. But thank you for your advice! ****I'll try to improve on that part.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

For a long moment nothing could be heard except for the fierce northerly wind ripping frail leaves from the ancient oak trees outside. Murtagh's hand automatically closed around the hilt of his sword, and he took a small step forward, as if trying to shield Medea. To shield her from her own father, who was standing in the middle of her bedroom, a half-smile playing on his thin lips. As far as Murtagh could see, Galbatorix came completely unarmed – yet he knew that the King would be dangerous even if he was tied to a pole in the middle of a desert island. Two guards stood behind Galbatorix, their faces blank. Medea let out an almost inaudible gasp, her eyes darting between Murtagh and her father.

'So,' Galbatorix continued casually. 'We finally meet.'

Murtagh said nothing, considering possible routes of escape. There was no way of getting to the door past the King and his soldiers, and they wouldn't be able to climb out of the window fast enough. He threw a quick glance at Medea, hoping that she, at least, would be spared.

'Murtagh,' Galbatorix turned around and walked to the door. One of the guards hurried in front of him to open the door. 'We have much to discuss, you and I.'

Medea quickly moved her head up and down, but Murtagh chose to ignore her. 'I don't think we do.'

Galbatorix didn't look surprised. 'You see, you don't actually have a choice.' He signalled the guards, who walked leisurely towards Murtagh.

'Go,' Medea whispered in his ear. '_Please_.'

One of the guards pushed Murtagh in the back roughly, forcing him to move forward. The other blocked Medea's way so she couldn't follow. At that moment Murtagh didn't care what was going to happen to him, a traitor and an enemy of the Empire. All he felt was relief that, at least for the time being, Medea was safe.

* * *

'_We have been circling for the past ten minutes_,' Eragon spoke, peering down into almost complete darkness, his tired eyes barely making out the shapes below. _'How exactly are we going to find Murtagh without letting anyone notice us?'_

'_I'm doing the flying,' _came Saphira's calm reply. _'You do the thinking. I'm no good at multitasking.'_

'_Helpful,' _Eragon snorted. _'So we can't land because we'll get noticed, and we can't attack because we'll get noticed. We have no idea where Murtagh is – or Medea, for that matter…'_

'_Actually, we do.'_

'_Wild guesses don't count, Saphira.'_

'_No, I'm serious. I can see her.'_

Eragon squinted, but all he could see were the blurred outline of the buildings beneath them. '_Where?_'

The sapphire dragon arched her neck, turning her head slightly. _'Northeast. She's sitting by an open window. If we could get her attention without alarming the guards…' _

'_We won't be able to talk to her. We can't go any lower, and I doubt that she can go out of the gates at this time.' _Eragon frowned, deep in contemplation. _'In theory, it's possible to find Murtagh using magic, but I don't yet know how to do that…'_

A loud cry interrupted him.

* * *

Startled, Medea jumped down from the windowsill where she had been perched for the past half an hour or so. She peeked through the window, guessing that the yell that she just heard was coming from outside. The guards at the gates left their posts, running around the courtyard chaotically while pointing at something above. A single line of brilliant blue crossed the sky rapidly, dodging the arrows fired at it with easy grace – then a scarlet flame descended upon the shouting soldiers, and Medea instinctively backed away from the window.

'Saphira…'

More people ran out from the castle - Medea recognised Galbatorix in front and Murtagh right behind him. To her surprise, Saphira didn't even attempt to attack the King, instead quickly gaining height and turning around to flee. Galbatorix stood very still in the midst of his soldiers, who gathered around him, trying to shield him in case the dragon returned. She noticed Galbatorix's lips moving quickly and his hands rising and then dropping helplessly, a grimace of fury on his pale face. He turned to Murtagh, and although Medea couldn't hear them from such a distance, she understood that there was some sort of confrontation between them. Then he stalked past Murtagh towards the castle, and after a moment's hesitation the rest of his entourage followed, dragging Murtagh along.

Medea paced up and down her room, biting her lower lip in frustration. Why had Saphira and Eragon decided to endanger themselves in such a way by coming to Uru'baen and then fleeing? If they were following Murtagh to keep him safe, they had done nothing to help him. Why did Galbatorix give up on the dragon and his Rider so easily? What did he want with Murtagh? And why was it taking so _long_?

The creak of the opening door took her by surprise, and she spun around expecting to see the servants bringing more food. Instead, Murtagh stepped in, carefully closing the door behind him. Medea noted with relief that the guard was gone.

'Finally!' she growled, rushing over to him and forcing him down on the sofa. She sat cross-legged on the bed, facing him. 'What was that about? What did he say?'

For a long moment Murtagh was silent, his face grimly thoughtful. 'I'm going to stay here,' he didn't look up at Medea, and when she stayed silent he added, 'I have to.'

'I don't understand…' she muttered. 'You betrayed him. How are you still alive?'

Murtagh snorted. 'Sorry to disappoint you.'

'Can you ever be serious?'

'I am!' he snapped back, and Medea flinched in surprise. He buried his face in his hands. 'I said that I _have to_ stay, not that I want to. I have no way of leaving. Not now that…'

'Now that what?' She prompted when he didn't continue. A smooth-textured, scarlet oval stone lay on his lap, and she wondered why she didn't notice it before. She had seen it so many times before.

The egg – for that it what it was - seemed to emit a soft cerise glow.  
And suddenly she understood why Murtagh had it.

* * *

'_Admit it. We don't have a plan.'_

Eragon glared at Saphira irritably. _'I'm working on it. Just give me time.'_

'_We don't _have_ time,' _she interrupted, a puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. _'Although I don't like the idea of abandoning Murtagh, we must get to the Varden as soon as possible. Now that Galbatorix knows we're nearby, we are an easy target. It's too dangerous to linger here any longer.'_

Eragon sat in silence for a while, gnawing the cuticle around his thumb furiously. He didn't remember when he had picked up this habit, but it was strangely comforting. _'What you say is true and sensible, but…'_

'_But you don't agree.'_

'_No,' _he shook his head helplessly. _'I feel like a traitor. But we can do nothing to help Murtagh now. __Our only hope is the Varden.'_

* * *

'Murtagh,' Medea spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving the ruby-coloured stone. He looked up. 'Do you know what that is?'

'Yes. He told me,' Murtagh answered in the same bleak, lifeless voice. 'I'm keeping it for one night.'

'And if…'

'If the dragon doesn't hatch, I will be put to death. I'll be of no use any more,' he finished, sounding oddly careless. He didn't seem to care that the chance of a dragon hatching for him was one in a million.  
He stood up and crossed over to the door, glancing out into the corridor. 'I'd better go. Somehow I don't think your father will be happy to see you associating with a traitor,' the side of his mouth curved up, but the smirk didn't reach his eyes.

And then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

'Stop touching it.'

'I'm not touching it!'

'You just did!'

'That was by accident!'

'Was not!'

'Was too!'

'Fine.'

'Fine.'

Medea rolled away from Murtagh, propping her chin on her hands and glaring at him from the corner of her eye. He lay on the marble floor next to her, never taking his eyes off the red dragon egg in front of him, his gaze full of hatred. The only reason why he still hadn't destroyed the egg was Medea, who had been watching him like a hawk, preventing him from as much as touching the glowing stone. He lay awake in his room for hours before taking the egg and creeping into Medea's room, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night anyway. In silence they stared at the unmoving egg, wishing for different things.

Medea wished it would hatch so that Murtagh's life would be spared.  
Murtagh wished to throw the egg out of the window, to watch it smashing into little pieces, and to know that although he would die, he would not become a slave of the Empire – and nor would anyone else in his place.  
Neither of these wishes, however noble they were, seemed to be fulfilling.

Medea thought about the other night she spent similarly, - just after Murtagh left, - gazing hopefully at the very same egg, and waiting. By the time Galbatorix's guards came for her, she was still waiting, hoping. She was more surprised than upset, previously being more than sure that a Dragon Rider's daughter would naturally be one as well. She sighed quietly, looking away from the egg.

As if sensing her mood change, Murtagh turned his head and touched her hand lightly with his fingertips, meaning the gesture to be comforting. He almost jerked away in surprise when Medea entwined her fingers with his without even looking at him or saying a word, but restrained himself, leaving his hand where it was. After some hesitation, he sat up, leaning against the bed, and inched closer to Medea, putting one arm around her shoulders.

A loud crack broke the silence.

**3 months later**

Medea stood away from the soldiers gathered in the courtyard, hugging her bare shoulders in a futile attempt to warm up. At that moment she envied Murtagh, who was leaning against the muscular front leg of a magnificent scarlet dragon, who, in turn, acted as a sort of stove for his Rider. Both seemed perfectly at ease, even impatient to take off – this Medea could not understand. So many perished on the battlefield, and yet death didn't seem to frighten the Rider and his dragon. Perhaps because they, never having been to a battle before, naïvely expected it to be merely an amusing experience… something exciting to remember.  
Neither of them seemed to be bothered by the possibility of not being alive to remember it.

Medea approached slowly, timidly, and stopped a few strides away from Murtagh, waiting for him to notice her. As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked up, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment, and then looked back at Thorn. A silent exchange seemed to have passed between them, after which Murtagh walked towards Medea.

'Hello,' he said quietly, struggling to keep his voice even. There was so much sadness in her eyes that he couldn't look into them.

'I actually came to say "goodbye"', Medea replied, mirroring his tone. It was almost comical, the way they both feigned indifference. She threw a quick glance at the soldiers, who were loading provisions onto sturdy warhorses. 'Looks like they're ready to go.'

'In that case, I…' Murtagh's voice caught in his throat. She was looking at him expectantly, no longer smiling.

He knew he shouldn't do it, but in that moment it didn't matter.

Taking a step forward, he cupped her small, sharp-boned face in his hands and, inclining his head, touched his lips softly to hers. After a second she stood on tiptoes and slipped her arms around his neck, responding to the kiss with more force than he'd expected. He wrapped his hands around her waist, holding her closer, ignoring the jeers of the soldiers, who stopped what they were doing to watch.

After what seemed like a moment, Murtagh broke the kiss unwillingly. 'Now I really have to go.'

'I wish you didn't,' she muttered back.

He drummed his knuckles against her forehead, like he did so many times when they were little . 'I'll be back. I promised, remember?'

Medea nodded, the corner of her mouth curving up. 'I'll be here.'

With one last glance at her, Murtagh turned and walked away.  
Medea glanced back at the castle to see Galbatorix staring coldly back at her.

* * *

'Medea? Did you hear me?'

She nodded without raising her head, her expression blank. She heard the cruel words – they still rang in her ears – but failed to capture their meaning. Her eyes flicked warily to Galbatorix' face, searching for an explanation but not finding it.

'I don't understand,' she admitted, her voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. 'Why?'

'It will secure my recent alliance with Sared, as well as your future. You will be the mistress of a palace and the wife of a respectable man. I can't see a better match for you. I don't expect you can, either.'

_'As a matter of fact, I can. If you cared enough to ask me.'_

'Father, I obey your wishes without question,' Medea replied out loud. She dropped her eyes to the floor and waited until the door behind Galbatorix closed before falling face-down on the bed and burying her head under the pillows.

* * *

_'Murtagh,_

_I have to break my promise. I'm sorry, truly. I don't have time to explain._

_I know you will be fine. You've always been a fighter, unlike me._

_Medea.'_

* * *

**A/N: I'm not sure how much time had passed between Thorn hatching and the Battle of the Burning Plains, so I just put 3 months. Also, sorry for the short chapter but that was the way it was meant to end… Thank you so much, everyone, for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The long, pearl-coloured curtains brushed the sunlit floor of the room, twisting around the tall columns supporting the ceiling. The gentle breeze carried a light scent unfamiliar to the girl standing by the open window. She squinted at the endless sands below, at the snake-like emerald line of the river in the distance, at the people, many of whom she knew and waved to when they looked up. Not for the first time, she tugged at her long, flowing dress in distaste, wishing she could wear something more comfortable. She was not used to wearing dresses.

She moved away from the window and slipped out of the door quietly. She walked along the exquisitely decorated corridors towards the gardens, passing maids and menservants who curtsied and bowed when they noticed her. As she laid her hand on the glass door leading to the gardens, she heard a polite cough behind her. She turned around.

'Going somewhere?' Sared asked curiously. She didn't know how he followed her without her noticing. The man's sneaky habits irritated her enormously, yet she was bound to him, like a tree to the ground. There was nothing she could do about that.

She found the question idiotic. 'Obviously.'

'I thought we agreed that you would be escorted outside,' Sared said softly, clearly choosing his words with care. He reminded her of a crouching panther, luring its victim into a false sense of security while it gets ready to attack.

'_We _decided nothing. I told you then, and I'll tell you again, that I don't see the point of me being escorted on the grounds. I am only going to the gardens, not to Ellesmera.'

She saw his piercing blue eyes narrow ever so slightly. For a moment she thought he was going to shout at her. Hit her across the face. But he didn't. He never did. She waited for him to speak, but when he remained silent, she slid the door open and entered the gardens, leaving him standing alone, looking at the place where she had just been.

She breathed in the humid afternoon air so unfamiliar to her, sitting down on a bench by the small marble fountain in the middle of the garden. Looking around to make sure that she was alone, she opened her palm to reveal a piece of folded paper.

Medea stared blankly at the two words scribbled in clumsy handwriting on the piece of paper, not knowing how to continue.

'_Dear Murtagh...'_

* * *

Murtagh stretched out his long legs and leaned back on Thorn's front leg, a little smile of satisfaction on his face. This was one of the few moments of rest that he got, the rest of his time being taken up by endless training and errands which Galbatorix sent him on. Even after making him swear an oath of loyalty, it seemed that the King still didn't trust Murtagh, remembering his betrayal.

'_He doesn't need to worry,' _Murtagh thought bitterly, plucking blades of grass absentmindedly and chucking them away. _'An oath sworn in the Ancient Language can't be broken. I can't betray the Empire again even if I wanted to.' _He preferred to tell himself that he had no interest in running away again. Not only would Eragon and the Varden never forgive him, the Empire would always be his enemy. And Murtagh preferred to be on the stronger side. By now he knew very well what Galbatorix was capable of.

'_Eragon understands that you have no choice but to obey Galbatorix.'_

Murtagh frowned when his thoughts were interrupted. He tended to forget that Thorn could hear his mind, which sometimes annoyed him. He enjoyed Thorn's presence, yet he often yearned for privacy, wishing that he could only share what he wanted with his dragon. _'Judging by his reaction when he saw me, no, he doesn't understand.'_

Thorn lowered his head and rubbed his nose against Murtagh's shoulder in encouragement. _'It's not your fault that you are the one to be captured by Galbatorix and not Eragon. If it was him in your place, would you consider him a traitor? Would you hate him?' _

After a moment's thought Murtagh shook his head_. 'What you say is true, but... I don't know, Thorn. I have so much on my mind right now that I can't think straight...' _As if on cue, a dark-eyed girl's smiling face came up from the bottom of his memory, and with a little difficulty he pushed it back down. He didn't want to remember that face.

Thorn, of course, noticed, but said nothing. He had learned to avoid the subject so as not to cause his Rider any more pain. For this Murtagh was grateful.

* * *

Sared watched Medea from a distance, trying to keep in the shade so she wouldn't notice his presence. She was sitting alone, leaning her elbows on her knees, looking straight ahead. Her eyebrows were met in a slight frown. Sared would pay dearly to know what she was thinking. He knew so little about her.

Sared was the ruler of Geoulnaresque, a city in the Hadarac Desert. After receiving Medea's hand in marriage, he became Galbatorix's ally – a great fortune and honour. He refused Medea nothing, though she rarely asked anything of him. Yet she still wasn't happy here. He could not understand why. She lived in a beautiful palace; she was free to spend her time as she pleased; she had dozens of servants waiting on her. What more could she possibly want?

Medea truly fascinated and puzzled Sared, and he had no idea how to act around her. She made him feel as if he was infinitely less important than her: partly because of her heritage, and partly because of her defiance towards Sared. She made it clear from the start that he was her husband only by law, and refused to share his bed. Sared didn't try to force her yet. He had to be careful around her - his alliance with the Empire was still fragile.

After a few minutes she stood up and walked towards the door leading back to the corridors. Just as Sared turned around to follow her, something caught his eye. Moving swiftly towards the place where Medea had been sitting, he looked underneath the bench. There was a folded piece of paper under one of its legs.

* * *

Galbatorix observed the young man before him thoughtfully, wondering if he was right to entrust such an important task to him. He still didn't trust Murtagh completely, although the oath he swore would prevent him from disobeying the King again.

'You sent for me, Majesty?'

'How well do you know the Hadarac Desert, Murtagh?' Galbatorix inquired.

Murtagh's gaze stayed fixed to the ground, but his face hardened. 'Not very well, I regret to say.'

'You will have plenty of time to get to know it better.' The King paused, wondering at Murtagh's surprising lack of curiosity when he said nothing in reply. 'I am an old man, Murtagh. I do not have all my life ahead of me anymore, yet there is so much I still need to do. There is a way, however, to stay in this world for a little bit longer, and I intend to use it – with your help.'

Murtagh waited politely, his face expressionless. He already knew what this meant. Another so-called "mission for the greater good". Meanwhile Galbatorix continued, 'Somewhere in the Hadarac Desert lies what I need. Seleara, the flower of immortality. Its seeds grant everlasting life. No one knows exactly where it is, but one man may still be able to help you. His family had been the guardians of the flower until it was lost. If anyone has any idea of Seleara's location, it is him.'

'And where can I find this man, Majesty?'

'He is the prince of Geoulnaresque, in the Hadarac. Perhaps you have heard of him? His name is Sared.'

Murtagh felt as if the ground had disappeared from underneath his feet.

* * *

'Who is Murtagh?'

Medea whirled around, staring at Sared in alarm and suspicion. Noticing a crumpled piece of paper he was clutching in his hand, she understood. 'A friend,' she replied curtly.

'Really?' He stepped forward until his face was inches away from hers. He could see the fear in her eyes, the fear that she was desperately trying and failing to hide. 'You write letters to a friend and then hide them? Perhaps you meant a _secret _friend. A lover, I presume.'

'That's ridiculous.'

He could see she was lying. Her face was flushed, and her eyes darted around the room, avoiding his gaze. So he was right. The thought filled him with unexpected anger. '_You _are ridiculous, thinking you could keep secrets from me. You may write a goodbye letter to him, if you wish. Soon he won't be receiving any more from you. Or anyone, for that matter.'

With a smirk, he threw the unfinished letter at her and walked out of the chamber.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

'_I see it,' _Thorn told Murtagh, who was almost lying on the dragon's rough back, watching the horizon with tired eyes. For the past few hours he was trying desperately not to fall asleep, reciting in his mind all the words of the ancient language that he knew: however, that seemed to tire him even more. At Thorn's words, glad of a distraction, he sat up straight, immediately awake. Murtagh watched Geoulnaresque Palace growing larger as they approached it, barely noticing its unusual beauty. He felt like asking Thorn to turn around and flee.

'_It's too late now,' _Thorn said, hearing his thoughts.

Murtagh could see people waiting for them, pointing and talking excitedly. Living in a secluded place like this, they couldn't have seen a dragon before. Thorn let out a loud, menacing roar, looking for a place big enough to land; the people watching pulled back, terrified.

'_Stop showing off.'_

'_Sorry,' _Thorn replied smugly._ 'Couldn't resist.'_

Murtagh felt Thorn's strong front legs hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. He slid off easily and slowly untied his travelling bag, hoping to delay meeting the master of Geoulnaresque Palace as long as possible. Thorn grunted impatiently. It was true that he knew Murtagh better than anyone else, yet he could not understand how his Rider was feeling at that moment, having never experienced love, loss or jealousy before. For this Murtagh envied him.

'_Come on,' _Thorn nudged him gently. _'I'm here. It'll be fine.'_

_I'm here. _The words had a calming effect on Murtagh, giving him new strength. With Thorn by his side, he was ready.

'It'll be fine,' he repeated quietly to himself and turned around.

A tall, lean young man was approaching him, followed by two servants and a slim woman whose face was covered with a thin veil to protect it from the sun. The villagers were looking on with awe, not daring to come closer – evidently frightened of Thorn. Murtagh assumed that the young man was Prince Sared, for he had a haughty, aristocratic air about him, and walked slightly ahead of his companions. He was good-looking, Murtagh admitted reluctantly, with dark hair and deep navy blue eyes; his skin was tanned from being exposed to the violent sun all year round. He wore a long, embroidered robe and light sandals, which meant he didn't feel the humidity of the desert as much as Murtagh in his heavy armour.

'_He looks like a girl,' _Murtagh remarked vengefully to Thorn.

Meanwhile, Sared had reached them and stopped a respectful distance away. 'Greetings, Shur'tugal,' after a moment's pause, clearly remembering that Thorn could understand what he was saying as well, he addressed him too, 'Greetings, Skulblaka. It is a pleasure to have you both here.'

'Thorn and I thank you, Prince.'

'I must confess, we were not expecting you until tomorrow evening,' Sared said conversationally, gesturing to his servants to take Murtagh's bag, which they did at once, bowing deeply to the Rider in respect. Immediately, Murtagh felt uncomfortable.

'Thorn is a swift flyer,' he replied coldly, noticing that his own voice sounded strange to him.

'_Be polite.'_

Apparently Thorn had noticed, too.

'But forgive my rudeness,' Sared continued, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Murtagh's hostile tone. 'I have not invited you inside. Come, you both must be exhausted. Unfortunately, the corridors of the palace are not quite wide enough for a dragon,' he glanced at Thorn apologetically, 'but we have prepared another space for you, Skulblaka, which I hope you will find comfortable.'

'Thorn wishes me to thank you, Prince.'

Sared was silent for a few moments, as if considering something. When he looked up at Murtagh there was no smile on his face. 'I believe you have already met my wife?' he turned to the woman behind him and, stretching out his arm, pulled the veil off her face. She looked down, hiding her eyes, but that did not stop Murtagh from recognising her.

He knew she would be there, he knew he would see her; he was preparing himself for this moment throughout the whole journey. He imagined how he would look at her with cold dignity and turn away, and she would see that he'd forgotten her, and she would regret leaving him for this _prince_, who'd never even held a sword in his delicate hands. When Murtagh was feeling particularly vengeful, he'd imagine Medea kneeling before him and begging for forgiveness, while he walked proudly away, refusing to listen to her sobs and words of love.

But when he saw her, he simply stared, unable to utter a word, until Thorn nudged him again. Looking up, he saw that Sared was watching him intently all this time and quickly forced a polite smile. 'We have met.'

The Prince smirked. Murtagh wondered briefly if he was a telepath. 'She will be present at the feast tonight, so you will have some time to... catch up.'

Out of the corner of his eyes Murtagh saw Medea glare at Sared, which the Prince pretended not to notice. Without a word she turned around and stormed off, closely followed by the two servants. Sared's face was a stony mask as his eyes followed her.

* * *

Medea picked at her food moodily, listening to the conversation around her. Every time Sared spoke she tensed, expecting another snide remark about her and Murtagh, but, surprisingly, none came. Occasionally she stole quick glances at Murtagh, who, on the contrary, seemed too absorbed in conversation with Sared to notice her – or perhaps he ignored her on purpose. Medea couldn't blame him. Murtagh was proud, she knew it, and she didn't expect him to have forgiven her betrayal. How could he have known that it was involuntary? She didn't have time to explain anything in the short note she left him before leaving for Geoulnaresque. For all he knew, marriage to Sared was Medea's wish, not her father's command. For all he knew, she didn't want him anymore.

She even started writing a letter of apology to him, knowing, however, that sending it would be practically impossible. Sared controlled her every move through the palace servants, and this would not go unnoticed. Still, she hoped that an opportunity would present itself some day. And, now that it did, she was going to take it.

'So, Shur'tugal, to business,' Sared's tone suddenly became detached and formal. 'The King has told me of the purpose of your visit.'

Medea froze, listening intently but still looking down at her lap to keep Sared from noticing her interest. He told her about Murtagh's arrival the day before, and, seeing his derisive smile and the strange triumph in his eyes, she didn't give him the satisfaction of asking why Murtagh was coming. Her eyes darted involuntarily towards the Rider, who nodded silently as an answer to Sared.

The Prince leaned forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers, his eyes scrutinising Murtagh's face. 'I'm afraid I cannot help you.'

'His Majesty said that our family had been the guardians of Seleara,' Murtagh's expression was incredulous, 'and that if anyone knows where it is, it's you. Surely...'

Sared shook his head apologetically, 'It has been lost for years. There is a possibility that it's still somewhere in the Hadarac, but searching for it, when it could be buried under the sand, would be madness.' He paused, evidently choosing his next words carefully. 'It is not my place to advise His Majesty, but I think that it is best to abandon this idea. Even immortality is not worth the effort, especially when one does not even know where to search.'

'_So it's immortality he wants this time. Good luck with that, father,' _Medea thought sarcastically, losing interest in the conversation at once. Another mad idea of her father's. She was not surprised – she knew he desired immortality even more than power, although one without the other would not make him content.

So this was why Murtagh came. She was foolish to think he may be coming not on another task from Galbatorix, but, maybe, because he wanted to. He was a Dragon Rider, after all, and it would be an honour for anyone to have him in their home. But then, why would he want to see her? She didn't mean anything to him anymore.

Suddenly she couldn't wait for the feast to be over.

* * *

Murtagh sensed someone else's presence immediately after entering the dark room and cursed himself for leaving his sword in there before the feast, so as not to offend Sared. Thorn was not with him – Sared had prepared another space for him to stay in, as the rooms were not big enough for him. The only option now was depending on his bare hands, which would be a disadvantage in a fight.

The figure was lingering by the bedside table; he could hear the quiet rustle of paper. Noiselessly he closed the distance between them and, with one swift movement, pushed the mystery person into a wall, unceremoniously turning them around to see their face. As he murmured _Brisingr_ to light the torch on the wall, he saw the familiar eyes open wide with fear and, astonished, let go.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

'_Murtagh, what's going on? Why've you gone quiet? Murtagh! I'm coming down!'_

'_False alarm, Thorn, I'm fine. Stay where you are.'_

Barbale was looking at Murtagh uncertainly and almost guiltily, holding her hands behind her back. Hiding something? 'Medea sent me,' the old woman spoke before he even opened his mouth.

Murtagh continued to eye her suspiciously, concealing his surprise and curiosity. He'd told himself he didn't care about Medea so many times for so long, that he almost started believing it. Why not? It was so much easier than torturing himself with foolish hopes that could never happen. After all, why should he pine for someone who didn't want him when he could have any woman in Alagaësia?

'_I always knew you were a modest one, hatchling.'_

'_Shut up, Thorn.'_

'Murtagh?' Barbale whispered again, distracting him from his chaotic thoughts. She glanced nervously at the open door behind him.

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. 'What does she want?' the words came out softer than he'd intended.

Barbale held out a small, folded piece of paper and, when Murtagh didn't make a move to take it, she put it on the bedside table. 'Just read it. That's all she asks for.'

He nodded silently, staring at the floor until the door closed quietly and the soft sound of Barbale's footsteps faded away. He fingered the piece of paper warily, his pride and months of mounting anger preventing him from reading it. Why should he? What's the use? More excuses that are supposed to make him feel better, more stupid explanations that he didn't want to hear?

He ripped the note apart decisively, feeling instant relief come over him. No note, no temptation to read it. He sat in silence for a while.

Then, reluctantly, he knelt on the floor and started putting the pieces together.

* * *

Sared let the delicate curtain drop back in its place and turned away from the window, leaning back against the wall. His eyebrows met together in a deep frown as he stared straight ahead absentmindedly. A minute ago he saw Barbale crossing the yard between the east and west wings – normally he would not have considered that suspicious, if not for two factors. Firstly, the normally incredibly dignified, composed woman walked swiftly, looking around anxiously like a thief. Secondly, the east wing had been assigned to the Dragon Rider for the duration of his stay, and the west wing... Sared clenched his jaw in anger. Medea lived in the west wing.

A thousand thoughts went through his head at once. Were they communicating through Barbale? Sneaking around behind Sared's back, laughing at him? The idea was infuriating. Not only did that fool, Galbatorix's slave, come to claim something his small brain would never comprehend, something that didn't belong neither to him nor his master; he also came to make a fool out of Sared in his own house by taking something – or someone, for that matter - else that was not his.

Pushing himself away from the wall sharply, Sared crossed the room in two long strides and knelt down on the floor. Lifting the edge of the intricately woven rug, he pushed down on one of the floorboards under it. It moved aside, revealing a small niche, from which he carefully lifted a transparent box with a single, pure white flower inside it, and brought it to his eye level. Its centre was a light, soft gold, as were the edges of the delicate petals. Right at the centre, tiny, lightly glowing seeds were just visible. Smiling contentedly to himself, Sared returned the box to its place and, after readjusting the rug, stood up.

'It's mine,' he whispered to himself almost reassuringly. 'And no one can take it away from me.'

Walking towards the door, he thought darkly that it was about time he paid his wife a visit.

* * *

'Is that really all he said?' Medea asked for the fifth time, pacing the room nervously.

Barbale sat perfectly still in an armchair by the large bed, watching her progress patiently. For the fifth time, she replied, 'Yes.'

'And he didn't even take the note?'

'No. He deserves to be angry, Medea. You have no idea how much your marriage to Sared hurt him.'

'It wasn't my fault!' Medea interrupted exasperatedly.

'He doesn't know that,' Barbale reminded her. 'You didn't explain anything.'

'If he believed that I married Sared because I wished to, he doesn't know me,' Medea muttered. 'I just thought...' she stared at the floor, biting her lip. 'I just _hoped_ that he still had feelings for me.'

'He's a proud man. Even if his feelings are the same, he will not show it.'

'And what if they aren't?'

'Then you will have to learn how to live without him, as you should in any case,' Barbale said calmly. Medea looked up in astonishment. 'Oh, don't give me that look. You know that chasing after Murtagh is no way for you to behave – you are married, and a princess!' She sighed. 'I don't know why I go along with your mad ideas. You take advantage of your poor old Barbale, who loves you too much to say no to anything you ask.'

Medea sat down in front of Barbale, resting her chin on the old woman's knees while she stroked her favourite's hair gently. 'It wasn't my choice to marry Sared,' she said quietly. 'It's not fair that I should spend the rest of my life with a man I don't love.'

'But what other choice do you have?'

Before Medea could answer, the door opened silently and a familiar voice spoke, 'Am I interrupting?'

She looked up to see Sared standing in the doorway, smirking derisively, and felt Barbale tense, evidently wondering how much he heard. 'Yes you are,' Medea replied moodily, irritated at Sared's bad timing yet at the same time relieved that he didn't give her a chance to answer Barbale's question. After all, she didn't know the answer herself. What choice _did_ she have, in truth?

'Weren't you just leaving, Barbale?' Sared continued in the same smooth, slightly amused tone. Barbale stood up instantly, as did Medea.

'She wasn't,' Medea said sharply, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Sared with disdain. 'We were actually in the middle of something, so if you don't mind...?' She gestured towards the door. Barbale touched her arm warningly.

An amused smile played on Sared's lips. He seemed to refuse to take Medea seriously, and that frustrated her most of all. 'Barbale,' he addressed the old woman, keeping his eyes on Medea. 'Leave us please.'

Shooting Medea an apprehensive glance, Barbale reluctantly slipped out the door.

Slowly, without saying a word, Sared walked towards Medea. She noted automatically that he moved with an easy grace, like a wild animal stalking its prey. The comparison made her take an involuntary step back as she watched him warily.

'How did you find the feast tonight?' Sared inquired, his expression unreadable.

The question took her by surprise. She searched her head for a suitable – and unsuspicious - description. 'Dull.'

'It was nice to see Murtagh again, I presume.' When Medea didn't reply, he added, 'Although you didn't talk to him. I was under the impression that you two were _close_ friends.'

He was standing too close to her for her comfort, his piercing eyes staring her down. Then he twisted his mouth in a cruel smirk. 'Too bad you'll never be anything more.' He backed her into a wall roughly, gripping her elbows with his hands to stop her fierce protest. His face inches away from hers, he whispered, 'You're mine... And you'll truly become mine... tonight...'

Medea's eyelids felt heavy, as if something was pressing on them. Her limbs refused to obey her as she struggled to break Sared's hold on her. She was aware of him loosening the straps of her dress. She could sense it slipping off her shoulders and falling into a shimmering pile of silk at her feet. She could feel Sared placing her carefully on the bed. She could see his eyes above her; she could hear his voice as if it was coming from every corner of the room. But she could not move.

'Did you like the wine at the feast? Yours was a bit more... special than the other's.' He took a small vial out of the folds of his tunic for her to see. There was a bit of dark liquid still left in the vial.

She had no energy to respond. She only hoped that whatever the liquid was, it would dull her senses completely that night.

Perhaps her prayer was granted, for she was only vaguely aware of the piercing sound of smashing glass; of Sared's grip on her breaking abruptly; of shouting all around her; of someone shaking her urgently...

Then her mind drifted into blackness.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Murtagh scowled at the pieces of paper which he'd carefully arranged to recreate Medea's note. It read: 'Meet me in my room after midnight'. Murtagh spent ten minutes pondering over the possible reasons why she would want to see him, and another five minutes consulting Thorn, who soon grew bored and rather wisely pretended to be asleep. It was several minutes to midnight and Murtagh was growing frustrated, unable to decide whether he should go or not.

The sudden sound of glass shattering and shouting raised him from his stupor. He jumped up, happy to have a distraction, and looked out of the window overlooking the courtyard, where the noise seemed to be coming from. Outside, dozens of archers were running around chaotically, shooting at something above them. Squinting into the darkness, Murtagh saw a flash of bright blue in the sky, moving away from the palace swiftly. He couldn't make out its shape, yet it was clear that it was a danger, judging by the palace guards' frantic reactions.

Suddenly flame erupted in the middle of the courtyard, sending the guards into panic. It took Murtagh a moment to realize that the fire came from the sky.

'_Thorn?'_

'_Yes. I saw that.'_

'_That couldn't have been…?'_

'_It was, young one. And another thing…'_

Murtagh tensed.

'_They took Medea.'_

* * *

The first thing Medea was aware of was the uncomfortable heat in her side. Still in a drowsy state, she wondered fleetingly where it was coming from, and, just as quickly as the thought came, it passed, as she started to regain her senses. She could just make out the quiet sound of footsteps, which reached her as if through a thick blanket. Lifting one heavy hand, she rubbed her eyes, attempting to keep them open long enough to see who the footsteps belonged to; her movement seemed to have caught the person's attention and they stopped pacing.

'Medea?' a vaguely familiar male voice called. 'Can you hear me?'

'Mm-hm,' Medea managed to mumble, trying to sit up. Her head immediately started spinning. 'What the…?'

'Wait, let me help you,' the man said, carefully pulling her into a sitting position. His face slowly came into focus, and she realized with a start why his voice sounded familiar.

'Eragon?'

The Rider grinned. Medea looked around to see Saphira curled up behind her, which explained the heat she felt earlier. The dragon nudged Medea with her nose in greeting, and she smiled. 'It's good to see you, Saphira,' she turned back to Eragon. 'What are you doing here, though?'

'Doing a favour for Nasuada, mainly,' he replied, 'and in the meantime saving you from Prince Psychopath.'

Medea raised an eyebrow, amused. 'Who?'

'Sared, who else,' Eragon grumbled. 'You can thank him and his little potions for your present state. How are you feeling?'

'Not great,' she admitted, carefully stretching out her aching legs. 'What happened? And how do you even know Sared?'

'Let me start from the beginning, so I don't confuse you.' Eragon offered, sitting down opposite her. When she nodded, he continued, 'Do you know anything about Seleara?'

Medea rolled her eyes. 'Yes, it's a legend. Which my father apparently believes, since he sent Murtagh to find out from Sared where it is.'

'Well, according to the legend, a prince found it in the Hadarac desert. Sared comes from the only royal family who have ever lived there, which, unsurprisingly, led people to believe that the flower could still be in their possession. They denied it, but that didn't really convince anyone.'

'But why do people think that the legend has to be true?' Medea interrupted. 'Can't it be just a story?'

Eragon stared at her, his expression almost offended. 'That would be so boring.'

Medea smirked. 'Sorry. Go on.'

'Well, as I was saying,' Eragon continued in a dignified tone, 'people talk. Galbatorix listens. He sent Murtagh to find out whether or not Sared has the flower, probably not really expecting a truthful answer – Nasuada thinks that Murtagh is supposed to find it himself, possibly with your help.'

Medea held up her hand, frowning in confusion. 'Wait, what do I have to do with this?'

'You're Sared's wife,' the Rider said slowly, as if stating the obvious.

'Yes but that doesn't mean he'd tell me his family secret,' she replied impatiently. 'We didn't speak to each other much.' To prevent further questions, she asked, 'How does the Varden know about all this?'

'We have connections,' Eragon answered vaguely. 'Nasuada asked me and Saphira to follow Murtagh and Thorn in case they succeeded in getting Seleara – we were to do what we can to prevent them from delivering it to Galbatorix. You know how much more havoc he could cause if he was immortal,' he added, glancing at Medea apologetically. She averted her gaze. 'We took a position quite far away from the palace, just to be careful. I reckoned that we wouldn't be able to see Murtagh and Thorn leaving from there, because they would fly in the other direction and the palace could shield them from view. Saphira disagreed but eventually I persuaded her to wait until nightfall and fly to the other side of the palace so we wouldn't be seen. On the way, Saphira saw you and Sared in one of the windows.'

Medea felt bile coming up to her throat.

'We figured he drugged you because you staggered backwards and started to fall, already almost unconscious. And then when he tried to take advantage of you in this state... I couldn't just do nothing,' he said quietly, almost defensively. 'And Nasuada will probably kill me for this,' he added.

Medea swallowed. 'Did he..? Um...'

Eragon continued to look at her, clearly not understanding.

'Did you see if he had a chance to... take advantage of me?' she cringed at even saying the words.

He shook his head vigorously. 'Oh. No. Saphira and I got there in time.'

Relieved, Medea reached out and placed her hand on top of his, squeezing his fingers slightly. 'Thank you. And you, Saphira,' she said to the dragon, who inclined her head in recognition of her words. 'You didn't have to do this, and I'm very grateful to you both. I'm sorry your plan failed because of me.'

Eragon shrugged. 'We'll try to intercept Murtagh and Thorn somewhere else.' He paused for a moment, 'But first we need to decide what to do with you. I assume you don't want to go back to the palace,' Medea shook her head furiously. 'Thought so. Maybe we could take you to the Varden? I could ask Nasuada to let you stay there and neither your father nor Sared would even know where you are.'

Medea raised an eyebrow. 'I don't know if you remember who my father is?'

'We can argue forever but without trying we won't get anywhere. The worst that can happen is that Nasuada will refuse to let you stay, but even then I'm sure I can think of something else to help you. What other choice do you have, really?'

Medea didn't reply for a moment, considering her choices. She could go back to Sared and live in a loveless, abusive marriage for the rest of her life.  
Or she could come with Eragon and face uncertainty, which scared her a lot less.

'You know,' she finally spoke, 'I think I'll come with you.'

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you so much, everyone, for reading! I had no idea that so many people liked this story and it's amazing for me to read all your lovely reviews! Unfortunately I barely had time to write this year as this website keeps getting blocked and unblocked in my college for some reason, but I'm doing my best to update as often as I can.  
Montecat - in several books I read, the authors used ' and not " for text, which is why I'm doing the same.  
Phantom – thank you so much! Sorry I upset you:) And your English is perfect:)**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sared paced up and down the room tensely, occasionally throwing a wary glance at the window, as if expecting to see Saphira flying leisurely past, dangling Medea from her claws. A dozen or so of his personal guards, who were gathered in the same room, fully armed, clearly held the same opinion: their eyes were fixed on the window, their hands gripping their swords.

'_I'm getting dizzy just watching him,' _Thorn said to Murtagh, indicating Sared. Despite the room being the largest in the palace, all furniture had to be removed in order to create enough space for the dragon, as Murtagh requested. Even the doorway was widened to allow him to enter. Murtagh didn't feel comfortable leaving Thorn outside in case Eragon and Saphira returned.

'_It doesn't make sense,' _Murtagh replied, looking away from Sared in frustration. If not for Sared insisting that the Rider stays in the palace, he and Thorn would have gone after Saphira and Eragon hours ago. _'What use is Medea to them?'_

'_Maybe she has information that the Varden needs,' _Thorn suggested. _'Sared became an important ally of Galbatorix after marrying her, so both of them could now be privy to Galbatorix's plans. Or maybe Eragon is secretly in love with her,' _Thorn added innocently. _'Kind of like someone else I know?'_

'_I don't know what you're talking about, crazy dragon.'_

Thorn made a low rumbling sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, causing Sared to turn around sharply. 'Excuse me. I forgot that you were here,' he said by way of explanation. Murtagh watched the prince with silent disgust. This was a coward who was hiding out in his palace, concerned only about his own safety; Medea's fate seemed to worry him only because her abduction could threaten his alliance with Galbatorix, from which he profited hugely.  
Glancing across at Barbale, who was sitting in a chair nearby, Murtagh saw her glaring at Sared with the same dismayed expression on her face.

'_Why didn't they take this fool instead? He was right there in the room with Medea, it would've been easy,' _Murtagh remarked to Thorn spitefully. 'I still think that Thorn and I stand a good chance of finding the other Rider and his dragon if we leave now,' he said out loud, trying not to show his anger.

'Your help won't be required. I will send my men after them.'

'They won't be able to catch up with them on horseback,' Murtagh explained impatiently.

Sared studied him coldly. 'You planned this well.'

'Excuse me?'

'Asking the other Rider to kidnap Medea, so you could then supposedly go to bring her back and never be seen again? Very clever,' Sared sneered. Seeing Murtagh's eyebrows travel further and further up his forehead, he continued, 'What, you didn't think I knew about your little romance? You planned to make a fool out of me _in my own house_, and _you _helped them,' he raised his voice, pointing his finger at Barbale accusingly.

'Your Highness…' Barbale began indignantly, but Sared didn't let her finish.

'I saw you scurrying between their rooms like a rat! Passing messages, weren't you? I wonder,' he said, his tone suddenly calm, 'what Galbatorix will think of this? I doubt that you'll live long enough to even say goodbye to _her_.'

Thorn growled menacingly, dashing forward at the same time as his Rider. Sared's men reacted instantly: some gathered around the prince, shielding him, while others faced Murtagh and Thorn. They were no match for either of them, lacking skill and experience – clearly they hadn't been given a lot of training, perhaps because Sared didn't expect an attack on the palace. _'He really is a fool,' _Murtagh thought with almost savage satisfaction, plunging his sword into the chest of the first man who attacked him.

'_I'll deal with them, go find Sared,' _Thorn's voice reached him as if through a cloud. Blood pounded in his head and a rush of adrenaline drove him on, as if pulling him towards Sared. But when he pushed past the guards to the back of the room, expecting the prince to be hiding out there, only empty space greeted him. Murtagh looked around, wondering how Sared could have slipped past without him or Thorn noticing.

'Looking for someone?' a calm voice asked derisively directly behind him. Murtagh whirled around, slashing at the prince with his sword. Sared dodged the blow readily and immediately delivered his own; although Murtagh parried it, its force made him take a couple of steps back in order to keep his balance. Murtagh's eyebrows met in a surprised frown; the prince's strength appeared to exceed his own, and he was just as skilled, which the Rider certainly didn't expect from him. Although he could have quickly defeated Sared using magic, the prince's pressing attack didn't let him concentrate on a spell.

'_Can I just fry him?' _Thorn asked impatiently.

'_Bad idea. The fire could spread and cut us off from the exit.'_

'_I'm coming to help anyway, since you're obviously losing.'_

'_Thorn, don't-'_

But the dragon was already rushing towards him and Sared, knocking over the remaining warriors with a sharp movement of his tail. The marble floor cracked under his heavy footsteps, unable to support the weight of the titanic dragon; palace walls shook dangerously and a column crumbled to the floor in front of Murtagh, separating him from Sared. The Rider looked at the door, noticing the remaining guards running towards it. Servants rushed anxiously out of the palace; Murtagh didn't see Barbale among them but he hoped that she had managed to escape.

'_Oops,' _Thorn said guiltily. _'I didn't realize… wait, where is that halfwit going?'_

'_Who?' _Murtagh asked despite already knowing who Thorn was talking about. He turned around, spotting Sared disappearing inside the palace. _'The palace is about to fall, what is he doing? Why isn't he running for the exit?'_

'_Maybe there's an exit there somewhere? Or maybe he's suicidal, I don't really care,' _Thorn replied vindictively. _'Let's go!'_

They got out of the palace, landing some distance away from it, watched by the frightened servants and guards, who, however, didn't attempt to attack them again. Sared was not among the crowd.

Barbale separated from the other servants and approached Murtagh and Thorn. 'Did you kill Sared?' she inquired. Murtagh shook his head. The old woman frowned. 'Where is he, then?'

'I saw him running back inside,' Murtagh replied. 'Perhaps he got out through another exit. I don't think he would go back in unless there was another way out there.'

'I hope the palace became his grave,' Barbale said hotly. Murtagh was hoping for exactly the same thing.

* * *

Approximately half of the palace was destroyed; buildings which were located further away appeared to be unharmed. The servants and the army would continue to live in their quarters for now. Sared's body was not found inside the palace, which suggested that he did manage to escape. However, his disappearance for two days resulted in the conclusion by Galbatorix that he really was dead, perhaps buried under the remains of the palace which prevented his body from being discovered. Galbatorix didn't hesitate to declare through a message to Murtagh that due to Sared's death, all of his servants were now the king's property, and were to be transported to Uru'baen. The same would happen to Medea, when she was found.

Murtagh hoped that Medea wouldn't be too upset when she found out that her husband was dead. Because that was what he was going to tell her.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you all for reading and reviewing, it makes me really happy that someone likes this story, and I hope this is still interesting!**

**Also, after rereading the whole fanfic I cringed at how annoyingly cliche the earlier chapters are and how sometimes I don't make much sense, so I changed a bit of Chapter 2 and 3. It's not very significant, I just think that the plot makes more sense now:)  
**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

'_This is probably the most idiotic thing he's made me do yet,' _Murtagh told Thorn, kicking aside a chair that was blocking his way and entering the room. After ordering Murtagh and Thorn to stay at Geoulnaresque for two days in case Sared showed up, Galbatorix was now making the Rider search the entire palace for any traces of Seleara, now that Sared wasn't an obstacle. The fact that his own daughter had been kidnapped didn't seem to concern the king. After almost two days, Murtagh and Thorn didn't really have a chance of catching up with Eragon and Saphira. They could have been anywhere by now. Yet Galbatorix insisted that finding the flower of immortality was more important than finding Medea. And Murtagh had no choice but to obey.

Thorn was waiting outside, communicating with his Rider mentally to keep him company and offer suggestions. So far, Murtagh had searched every room in the palace that hadn't been destroyed, finding nothing. _'We don't even know that it's in the palace,' _he continued. _'Or that it exists.'_

'_I think it does,' _Thorn replied pensively. _'Sared went back inside, risking his life – what would be more worth that than the flower of immortality? Why else would he go back?'_

'_Because he wanted to escape unnoticed in case he thought I'd kill him once we were outside,' _Murtagh argued stubbornly, opening an old wooden chest in the corner of the room and throwing out its contents: a stack of pieces of paper and parchment, some items of clothing and small bags full of herbs. The clothes resembled the ones that Sared usually wore, but they looked older than the prince himself – the colours were faded and the material was torn in several places. _'But if you're right and he's taken Seleara, why do I have to search the whole damn palace for it?'_

'_Maybe Galbatorix wants to make sure it's not here? He might be hoping that Sared didn't have time to get it.'_

Murtagh kicked some of Sared's belongings aside in frustration, causing one of the pieces of parchment to unravel. Glancing at it automatically, Murtagh noticed that it was a letter addressed to Sared, and picked it up curiously. The ink had faded in places_, _making the general meaning of the letter hard to understand, but it was the date at the bottom which caught Murtagh's attention. The letter was sent forty-five years ago.

Murtagh frowned, rereading the date to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Sared couldn't possibly be that old – he looked like he was barely older than Murtagh. Intrigued, the Rider unravelled the other pieces of parchment one by one, finding that all of them were letters addressed to Sared. _'Thorn?'_ he called after a while.

'_Yes?'_

'_I found a stack of letters addressed to Sared. Want to know when the first one was sent?'_

'_When?'_

'_A hundred and sixty years ago.'_

* * *

Medea lay on her stomach on the damp grass next to Eragon, plucking blades of grass out of the ground nervously. For the past two days, they had been hiding in a deep valley some distance away from Geoulnaresque. Eragon assured Medea that no one from the palace would be able to see them, as they were too far away from the palace for the human eye to notice them. However, Saphira's heightened vision would supposedly enable her to see the palace perfectly. When Thorn and Murtagh left Geoulnaresque, they would most likely head in the direction of the valley, as this was the shortest way back to Uru'baen. Then, Saphira and Eragon would attempt to intercept them. It seemed like a good plan, but Medea still couldn't shake off an odd feeling of anxiety.

For the past two nights, Sared haunted her dreams. His mouth fixed in a smirk, his cold eyes staring her down, his almost unnaturally strong hands gripping her shoulders. The dreams felt so real that they made her wake up in the middle of the night, gasping, looking around wildly. Then she lay flat on her back for the remainder of the night, not daring to move in case Sared showed up and she wouldn't be able to see him.

Despite Eragon's guess that Sared had died when Geoulnaresque was destroyed, as Saphira did not see him exit the palace like everyone else, for some reason Medea had a feeling that he was still alive, somewhere. And nothing frightened her more than the thought that eventually, he could find her again.

'What are you thinking?' Eragon asked suddenly.

'Just worrying about you,' Medea replied without meeting his eye. She was too embarrassed to tell him the truth, seeing as he had done his best to persuade her that with him and Saphira around, Sared was no threat to her. She didn't want him to think that she was a coward. But it was also true that she was worried about him and Saphira – Thorn and Murtagh had proved to be stronger than them the last time they met, so they probably had a good chance of defeating Saphira and Eragon again.

The Rider smiled slightly. 'Why?'

'Because you told me that they were stronger, and more experienced, and I was thinking, what if they hurt you or worse, and it will be all my fault, and... stop laughing at me!' she said indignantly, shoving Eragon.

'You have a leaf in your hair and you look like a child when you're worried, so excuse me if I don't take you seriously,' he chortled, watching with amusement as she shook her head, trying to get rid of the leaf. Reaching out, he plucked it out of her hair. 'Saphira and I will be fine,' he said quietly. 'I don't want you to worry about us.'

Medea smiled. 'But you know I will, don't you?'

Eragon rolled his eyes. 'Yes. I know you will.'

* * *

'_Those letters were probably addressed to Sared's ancestors,' _Murtagh told Thorn, leaning over the railing of the veranda. Thorn was sprawled out outside it, squinting at his Rider lazily. The heat was making him sleepy.

'_And all of them were called Sared,' _the dragon replied sarcastically.

'_I know what you're getting at,' _Murtagh said in a bored tone. _'But this doesn't prove that Seleara exists. For all we know, all of his ancestors did have the same name as him. Maybe it's customary in their culture.'_

'_Or maybe he's over a hundred and sixty years old, and all those letters were addressed to him. Why would he keep letters that weren't his?'_

'_Thorn, it doesn't matter to us,' _Murtagh said through his teeth. _'Even if Seleara existed, would you really want HIM to have it?'_ He knew that Thorn would understand that he was talking about Galbatorix. _'He would live forever, he would be invincible – and we would never be free!'_

Thorn was silent for a few moments. All around them, the palace servants were scurrying to and fro, packing up their belongings. Every time they passed the Rider and the dragon, they would glance at them warily and pick up pace; Murtagh and Thorn barely noticed them, oblivious to what was going on around them. _'He'll make us find Sared anyway,' _the dragon finally said. _'When we tell him that we didn't find Seleara in the palace, he'll think that Sared has it.'_

* * *

'Majesty, we didn't find any traces of Seleara,' Murtagh said, watching Galbatorix's face for signs of displeasure. The King, however, displayed no emotions. But then, the clarity of the image provided by scrying was far from perfect, so he couldn't be sure.

He didn't mention the letters. He reckoned that the fewer reasons Galbatorix had to believe that Seleara existed, the more likely he would be to give up pursuing it. It was a huge assumption, but Murtagh had to try.

'What are you talking about, Murtagh?' Galbatorix asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Sir, you ordered me to search the palace...'

'I gave no such orders,' Galbatorix interrupted quickly. 'I know that Prince Sared told you that Seleara was not in his possession. Why would I distrust his word?' Without giving Murtagh a chance to respond, he continued, 'I want you to return to the palace. Prince Sared is already here – he was forced to flee and seek my protection after you attacked him in his own palace. We need to discuss your behaviour, Murtagh. It has... displeased me greatly.'

Galbatorix's face dissolved for a moment, replaced by the smug face of Sared. He was there, right next to Galbatorix. Now Murtagh understood why Galbatorix was acting this way: he didn't want Sared to know that he ordered Murtagh to search Geoulnaresque for Seleara.

And Sared was alive. Sared was at Uru'baen, feeding Galbatorix lies, causing trouble for Murtagh and Thorn.

In that moment, Murtagh didn't know whom he hated more: Galbatorix or Sared.

* * *

**A.N.: My exams are finally over! Which means I have more time to write, so hopefully I'll update more often during the summer holidays (if I can hide from my parents with a laptop, because according to them, I am killing my eyes with all this sitting in front of a computer). Anyway, thank you very much for all the reviews for the previous chapter, and hope you like this one!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Medea sat on the cool, smooth stones surrounding a narrow stream and dipped her mud-streaked dress into the water, scrubbing it clumsily. When Eragon saved her from Geoulnaresque, he also, rather considerately, took the dress she had been wearing that night; the same dress that Sared ripped off her and threw carelessly on the floor – she remembered that part only too well. When she woke up, she was fully dressed again, and Eragon was tactful enough not to mention this since.

Now, wearing a cloak she had borrowed from him, Medea was trying to wash the dirt off the dress. The fact that she had never washed her own clothes before had never embarrassed her, until now; now, more than ever, she felt the need to prove that she had become a different person. There seemed to be an entire world separating her from the childish, capricious girl she'd been before.

'_But I was strong before, at least. I had passion,'_ she thought with frustration, staring down at her distorted reflection in the water as if it could answer her. _'What do I have now? Fear, despair?'_

Fear began to dominate her life after Saphira noticed that the servants at Geoulnaresque had now started to unpack their belongings, as well as any valuables found in the palace, after taking several days to pack them. The builders were also beginning to rebuild the parts of the palace which had been destroyed. Medea could think of only one explanation: Sared turned out to be alive. There would be no reason for the servants to stay in the palace without their master.

When Medea noticed a glint of red in the water, she didn't pay much attention to it, believing that it was simply a reflection of the setting sun. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of wings pushing against the wind that she looked up at the sky.

A scarlet dragon was soaring in the air above her. Although Medea couldn't make out its Rider's face, she knew who he was.

Her first impulse was to run, even though she realised that Thorn could catch up with her in seconds. She knew that Murtagh and Thorn wouldn't harm her – Galbatorix would not allow them to, as she was the link to his alliance with Sared; however, she knew almost without doubt that if Murtagh found her, he would take her back to the place she had escaped. And she would not go back to her cage after tasting freedom.

Medea looked around quickly for a place to hide, but the valley was almost completely bare, with only a few skeletal bushes, which would not be able to cover even half of her. There were two boulders by the side of the valley, and, even though Medea knew that even if she hid behind them, Murtagh and Thorn would still be able to see her from above, she reckoned that she would be even more noticeable if she stayed where she was, right in the middle of the valley. She crawled towards the boulders and crouched behind them in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. Saphira and Eragon were unlikely to come back soon, having gone hunting not long ago - they couldn't help her this time.

Medea's heart was pounding. She covered her mouth with her hand to mute the sound of her breathing, which seemed deafeningly loud to her; she couldn't hear anything else. She didn't dare to peek out from her hiding place to see where Murtagh and Thorn were. Although the chances were slim, she hoped that they flew past the valley without noticing her.

Her hopes were shattered by a loud thump. Thorn landed in front of her, sending up a cloud of dust. This was when Medea jumped to her feet and ran as fast as she could to the other side of the valley.

Somewhere in the back of her mind lingered the rational thought that she wouldn't be able to get very far with a dragon pursuing her, and she understood that she would not be able to climb out of the valley by herself, but, in her desperation, she turned her back on logic.

But she could already hear Murtagh's footsteps behind her, catching up to her. She heard him shout her name, his voice annoyed, and a moment later he grabbed her arm. Medea tried unsuccessfully to twist her arm free, and, failing, attempted to push Murtagh away with her other hand, which he intercepted easily.

'What are you doing?' he demanded angrily. 'It's me!'

'I know, that's why I'm trying to get away from you, damn it!' Medea retorted, kicking him in the shin. He swore and threw her over his shoulder unceremoniously, holding both of her ankles with one hand to prevent her from kicking him again.

'What the hell has gotten into you?' he growled, carrying the indignant Medea towards Thorn, who was waiting patiently nearby. 'I'm taking you home, not to a slaughterhouse.'

Medea's eyes prickled. She stopped struggling. Why did he, of all people, have to be her executioner? Did he know what awaited her when she returned to Geoulnaresque? Did he care? 'Please let me go.'

He stopped, evidently perplexed by the change in her behaviour. 'I'll put you down if you stop fighting.'

'I don't mean put me down. I mean, let me go. Don't take me back to Geoulnaresque. Please.'

Murtagh set her down, his expression puzzled. 'Why not?'

'_Does he know what Sared tried to do to me?'_ Medea wondered. She thought not. Otherwise he would not have to ask such a question.

'Sared didn't...' she paused, choosing her words. 'He didn't treat me well.' She understood that she had nothing to be ashamed about. But even so, her face burned at the idea of telling Murtagh what happened on the night she left the palace. Following a sudden impulse, she added, 'and I never wanted to marry him. I felt nothing for him.'

Murtagh didn't respond; his face was devoid of emotions. He played with his ring, rotating it around his finger.

'This is what I was going to tell you when I sent you a note asking you meet me,' Medea continued. 'I wanted you to know that I only married Sared because my father forced me to.'

He didn't acknowledge her words. He didn't even look at her. Medea felt colour creeping into her cheeks. Seeing his indifference, she was regretting telling him this. Why did she think that he would care?

'Are you even listening to me?' she burst out finally.

'Mm-hm.'

'And you don't have anything to say?'

'I don't know what to say,' Murtagh replied after a pause. His voice sounded hollow and distant. A stranger's voice.

'_What did you expect?' _Medea's inner voice inquired derisively.

What _did_ she expect? She knew what she had hoped for, at least. She had hoped that he still felt the same way about her as she felt about him. But while her feelings had only increased over time, like a flame that has been fed, his had clearly disappeared. And it wasn't a surprise for her. But it hurt nonetheless.

She heard Murtagh say something quietly, but the meaning of his words escaped her. She had to ask him to repeat.

'Where is Eragon?' he asked.

'How should I know?' Medea lied. Murtagh may not harm her, but the same couldn't be said about Eragon. It was better that he didn't know that Eragon and Saphira were nearby.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on Murtagh's face. 'Do you expect me to believe that he just left you alone in a valley after kidnapping you from the palace?'

'_Kidnapping_ me? He saved me,' Medea snapped. It was pointless to deny Eragon's involvement if Murtagh already knew about it.

'He saved you,' he echoed, his voice dripping with scepticism. She thought that he would ask what Eragon saved her from, but his question was different. 'Did you arrange it? Did you ask him to come?'

'Yes,' she lied again. If she had denied contacting Eragon, Murtagh would have asked what the Rider was doing by the palace, and she could not tell him the truth: that Eragon was trying to ambush him.

'_And this is the second time that the ambush failed,' _she thought. How ironic it was that Eragon and Saphira chose this particular time to leave the valley.

'How did you contact him?' Murtagh asked.

'That's none of your concern.'

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. 'Tell him to take you to a safe place,' he said finally. When Medea opened her mouth to speak, to insist once again that she didn't know where Eragon was, he said, as if reading her mind, ' Don't worry, I won't pursue him. But you might want to tell him to stay out of my way in the future.' Then he turned around and walked swiftly towards the waiting Thorn, climbed onto his back and, without another word, they were gone.

* * *

Eragon and Saphira came back almost an hour after that, carrying two dead stags. After finding out what happened from Medea, they attempted to follow Murtagh and Thorn, but came back empty-handed. In their pursuit, they were getting dangerously close to territories which were heavily guarded by Galbatorix's men, and they had to turn back in order to avoid being detected.

After landing in the valley again, Eragon walked some distance away, saying that he needed to scry Nasuada and ask her what they should do next. Medea felt guilty. So far, she had repaid Eragon's kindness only by causing problems for him.

While Medea was mentally beating herself up, Eragon came back. 'Nasuada says we should come back to the Varden. She doesn't see what else we can do right now,' he said.

Medea frowned. 'But what if they have Seleara?'

'The Varden's spies will pass on anything they hear. If we find out that they brought Seleara, we will plan a full attack - not just me and Saphira, but the Varden's army, as well as the elves and the dwarves, if they agree to it.'

'But by then it might be too late. _He _might already be immortal,' Medea couldn't bring herself to say her father's name. She couldn't say "my father" either – it felt almost disloyal to Eragon, who had been kinder to her than Galbatorix had ever been. But he was still her father. And she couldn't help feeling that her loyalty should have been to him.

'That's what I said,' Eragon replied. 'Nasuada told me that there was hope yet, and that she would tell me more when we arrived.'

'Did you tell her about me?'

He looked uncomfortable. 'Sorry, it flew out of my head. I can go tell her now.'

'No,' Medea said quickly, 'I have another idea.'

* * *

Neither Thorn nor Murtagh said a word for a while, silently watching one city replace another below them. They all seemed the same.

Finally Thorn spoke. _'Murtagh?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_You know I rarely criticise you,'_ the dragon began cautiously.

'_Yes,'_ Murtagh said again, warily this time.

'_But I think you made a mistake today.'_

'_What do you mean?'_

'_I think you should have told Medea how you feel.'_

Murtagh tensed. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

'_You saw that she still has feelings for you,'_ Thorn continued. _'And you do, too. So why didn't you tell her that?'_

'_Because I don't want to be with her anymore, Thorn,'_ Murtagh replied, sharper than he'd intended.

Thorn would not give up. _'Then why were you so interested in what her note said? Why were you so eager to find her after Eragon took her?'_

'_Because I suppose I do still care about her. But that doesn't mean I want to be with her.'_

'_Since when?' _the dragon inquired sarcastically.

'_Since I realised that some people are not meant to be together, Thorn,' _Murtagh answered curtly.

The silence between them resumed.

* * *

**A.N.: You guys must be mentally throwing tomatoes at me for always being so slow to update: the reason for this is not just because I'm busy, but also because I'm trying to plan the story until the end but it's not really working. I know it's already AU but I don't want to disregard the books completely, and at the same time I don't see how I could fit all the major events of the books into this story. So I'm just trying to decide how to continue this at the moment. Please don't be too mad at me:)**

**P.S. By the way, in the first draft of this chapter, Murtagh and Thorn just flew past Medea without noticing her. Do you think that would have been better/more realistic than what I wrote eventually?**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The guards who escorted Murtagh to the throne room left him by the door, silently motioning for the Rider to go inside. Murtagh pushed the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. For some reason he thought fleetingly of how it used to unnerve Medea, but, checking himself, pushed the memory out of his mind.

Galbatorix's presence was suffocating; it filled the room, it was everywhere. He rested his head in his hand, his gaze boring into Murtagh. Another shadow lingered just behind his throne, its movements restless and impatient, like a wild animal pacing in its cage. Sared.  
Murtagh noted the fact that the King made a point of emphasising that he and Sared were not equals by having the Prince stand by his throne, rather than sit next to him.

'Kneel,' Galbatorix spoke.

Murtagh clenched his jaw as he obeyed, keeping his gaze down so he wouldn't see the satisfaction on Sared's face. Because he was not just kneeling in front of Galbatorix. He was kneeling in front of Sared as well. And the humiliation was excruciating.

'You have disappointed me, Murtagh,' Galbatorix continued. 'You have attempted to kill my friend and ally in his own home, so that he wouldn't be in the way of your relationship with my daughter... Yes, Sared has told me about the letters you and Medea have been exchanging,' the king added when Murtagh glared up at Sared, stunned by his lies. 'You have gone through his possessions...'

'That's not what happened!' Murtagh interjected angrily. Unseen by Galbatorix, Sared was grinning openly.

'Silence!' Galbatorix raised his voice. 'Sared has told me exactly what happened. And for what you have done, you will be punished. It is the least that you deserve; you are fortunate that you are yet of use to me. And, Murtagh, I want to make it very clear for you,' he leaned forward, his face now on the same level as Murtagh's. 'Once my men find my daughter, you are never to go near her again. If you disobey me again, I will not be so forgiving.'

As if on cue, the door opened and the same two guards who escorted Murtagh to the room earlier walked in. 'Take him away,' Galbatorix ordered lazily, without looking up.

'Don't touch me,' Murtagh snarled at the men when they moved towards him. He got up and walked out of the door without another look at Galbatorix, followed at some distance by the guards.

'Such insolence...' Sared purred as soon as Murtagh left the room. Galbatorix glanced at him, his expression unreadable, and said nothing.

* * *

Eragon, Saphira and Medea reached the Varden late in the evening. The dragon and his Rider spotted it much earlier than Medea, whose vision wasn't anywhere near as sharp. Despite being unable to see much in the dark, she peered down curiously from Saphira's back nevertheless. She could not, however, ignore the feeling of anxiety that grew within her as they approached the city.

She had persuaded Eragon to tell Nasuada that she was one of Sared's servants, who ran away seeking to escape his cruelty and was saved by the Rider, whom she then begged to take her to the Varden. It actually resembled the truth, in a way. Medea didn't think than anyone would be able to recognise her for who she was. She doubted that anyone in the Varden knew what she looked like – she had never been outside the grounds of her father's castle, apart from the time when she was sent to try to capture Eragon. She had never been outside Geoulnaresque, either.

Despite Eragon's attempt to reassure Medea that he would persuade Nasuada to accept her, like she had accepted Murtagh, Medea didn't want to reveal her identity. Somehow she doubted that anyone at the Varden would be able to trust her, having already been burned by Murtagh's betrayal.

Saphira landed; only then Medea noticed seven dark silhouettes standing nearby, seemingly waiting for them. One of them separated from the rest and approached them. The person threw back the hood of their cape to reveal their face, and Medea guessed immediately that this was Nasuada. Eragon had described her to Medea before. The other six people, standing silently behind her, must have been her guard – the Nighthawks. Nasuada greeted Eragon and Saphira; then her black eyes bore into Medea inquisitively.

'This is Ilena,' Eragon hurried to say, going on to recount the story they had prepared earlier. His tone was faintly guilty. Medea watched the ebony-skinned girl tensely, waiting for her reaction.

To Medea's relief, after a moment's hesitation Nasuada nodded with a small smile. 'You are welcome here, Ilena, even more so because, like us, you are an enemy of the Empire. There are several unused tents, feel free to take one of them.'

'Thank you for letting me stay, Lady Nasuada,' Medea replied, lowering her gaze in what she hoped was a respectful manner. She forgot to ask Eragon how she should behave around the leader of the Varden, and was wondering if she should have addressed her by another title, or perhaps bowed; her pride was protesting against the thought of purposely lowering herself in status, but she didn't want to arouse suspicion.

Eragon and Medea followed Nasuada inside, while Saphira curled up on the ground outside Eragon's tent; Nasuada requested to speak to Eragon before he retired for the night. After leaving Medea in her tent, Nasuada led Eragon into what seemed to be a dining room - apart from a long, elaborately ornamented wooden table and several chairs, there was no other furniture. Nasuada sat down, indicating to Eragon to do the same.

'This girl you brought here...' Nasuada said quietly, resting her elbows on the table and leaning forward. Her voice was thoughtful. 'She could be useful to us.'

'Because she lived in Sared's palace? You think she might know if Sared had Seleara?'

'I'm hoping that she may know whether or not Murtagh found it. I have a feeling that he attacked Sared because he wouldn't surrender Seleara. I could be wrong,' she admitted. 'Obviously, we don't even know if Seleara actually exists. But I can't think of any other logical explanation to why Murtagh would destroy the palace, especially since we know that he went there to find the flower.'

'I doubt that a servant would know about such things,' Eragon pointed out.

Nasuada rolled her eyes. 'Servants know everything. I know how they gossip. How do you think the legend of Seleara was created? It was the slaves from Geoulnaresque who claimed that the royal family possessed it.'

Eragon nodded, remaining silent for a few seconds before he remembered what Nasuada had wanted to talk to him about. 'Nasuada, you told me that even if Murtagh found Seleara and delivered it to Galbatorix, there would still be hope. What did you mean by that?'

'We have re-read the ancient texts that mention Seleara, paying closer attention to details. They say that once, the flower was stolen from the king who possessed it at the time. The king, who was young and healthy, began to age rapidly, becoming a frail old man. But eventually the thief was caught and the flower was returned to the king, who became young again...'

'So if these sources tell the truth, you have to be continuously exposed to Seleara's magic,' Eragon realised.

'Yes. This means that even if Galbatorix finds Seleara, we can still attempt to take it from him. There is still hope, and that is the most important thing.' Nasuada rose from her seat, indicating that the conversation was finished. Eragon could see fatigue and, at the same time, a sense of desperate hope in her eyes, and longed to spare her from the disappointment she was about to face; for Medea knew no more than Nasuada, and could not help. 'I will talk to Ilena tomorrow. Right now I think we should all get some sleep,' Nasuada said.

Eragon stood up as well. 'Agreed. I will just wish Ilena good night. And good night to you, Nasuada.'

'Good night, Eragon.'

He walked back through the corridor which he passed on the way to the dining room towards the exit, trying to remember which tent was Medea's. One of the guards directed him to it and he knocked on one of the poles supporting the tent. 'It's Eragon. May I come in?'

'Yes,' Medea called in response.

Eragon entered to see her folding clothes into a neat pile. 'Where did the clothes come from?' he inquired.

'Nasuada sent someone to give me some spare ones,' Medea replied. 'What did she say to you?'

Before answering, Eragon lifted the entrance flap of the tent and peeked out, making sure that there was no one nearby who could overhear them. Satisfied, he dropped the flap back into place. 'She said that, according to texts about Seleara, in order to remain immortal you have to be constantly exposed to its magic. So even if Galbatorix has the flower, we could attempt to take it away from him.'

For a moment, Medea seemed too surprised to speak. Then a crooked smile appeared on her face. 'That's good news,' she said, her words truly sounding earnest; but there was sadness in her voice that she failed to conceal.

Eragon had a fairly good idea of what was bothering her. She may have disagreed with Galbatorix's tyrannical methods of ruling, she may have betrayed him by coming to the Varden and she certainly understood that to allow him to have Seleara would doom Alagaesia. Eragon didn't think that Medea had any affection for Galbatorix, because he never seemed to have had any for her. But he was the only father she had, and yet she was effectively helping the people who wanted to kill him.

'I just feel guilty,' Medea murmured, confirming Eragon's guess. 'For not being on his side.'

Eragon reached out and touched her shoulder encouragingly. 'You can't blame yourself for wanting to do the right thing, Medea. And you can't sacrifice yourself. You _were_ on his side, remember? And how did he repay you?'

She shrugged. 'In my head, I know you're right. Let's not talk about it... Go get some sleep, Eragon. I'll see you tomorrow.'

After he left with a last worried glance at her, Medea undressed, crawled into bed and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling for hours.

* * *

**A.N.: So Inheritance came out recently and I haven't read all of it yet, just the plot summary and some Murtagh scenes, because I wanted to know what happens so I could get on with this story. And I thought I'd work some of the events from the book into this story, but in a different context, if that makes any sense? I don't really know how to explain without spoiling the book for those of you who haven't read it, I guess I'll show you when we get there:) The reason why I'm not including all of the events from the book is because I really want to just focus on the Seleara storyline and on the Murtagh and Medea storyline.**

**I also apologise for the fact that the timeline is completely screwed up, as I started at book 1 and am now at book 4. But I hope you don't mind that too much since this story is already AU:) And as always, I'm really grateful to you guys for reading and I hope you're still enjoying the story:)**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

An hour or so after the guards left Murtagh in a room and told him to wait there for Galbatorix, he had finally given up pacing restlessly around the room and now stood facing the softly crackling flames in the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest. The waiting irritated him more with every passing minute; he had wanted to get whatever punishment Galbatorix had planned for him over with quickly, but the King evidently considered that too merciful. Murtagh hoped that Thorn, at least, would not be punished along with him.

'_I want to share the punishment with you,' _Thorn objected fiercely, having heard his Rider's thoughts. His voice was seething with anger.

'_You didn't do anything, Thorn.'_

'_Neither did you! Why didn't you use the ancient language to tell Galbatorix that Sared was lying?'_

'_That damned bastard already knows that. He knows that I searched Sared's palace on HIS orders. Clearly he just doesn't want Sared to know about it.'_

'_No, I understand that,' _Thorn interjected impatiently. _'I meant, why didn't you tell him that you didn't attack the Prince because you wanted to pursue Medea?'_

Murtagh didn't reply for a while. Thorn's question had caused the stream of thoughts he'd deliberately buried to resurface. After some hesitation, he poured them into his dragon's consciousness.

Did he attack Sared with the conscious aim of killing him and having Medea for himself? No. But was his disdain for Sared initially caused by the fact that the Prince was Medea's husband? Yes. Was he glad when he thought that Sared had died? He had to admit that he was. What other reason for this was there, except Medea?

Murtagh understood now that it would have been impossible for him to be with her, being who they were – he, bound by an oath of loyalty to Galbatorix; she, the daughter of Galbatorix. Like he said to Thorn, some people were not meant to be together. But he could not deny that some lingering feelings for her still remained – perhaps because not enough time had passed to make them fade away, perhaps because wounds do not heal if they are constantly reopened. And he could not claim, without lying, that some part of him didn't still want her. Just like it could not accept the idea of someone else having her.

'_I could have proved that Sared lied about me exchanging letters with her,' _Murtagh told Thorn. He knew that the dragon had been silently listening, but felt the need to explain his thoughts in case they were too chaotic to comprehend. _'But what he said about me wanting him out of the way wasn't a lie. There is no point in telling only half of the truth because eventually all of it would come out.'_

Before Thorn could reply, Murtagh saw the door opening out of the corner of his eye and turned towards it, simultaneously warning the dragon. A moment later, Galbatorix entered the room. Before he closed the door again, Murtagh noticed that there were no guards outside the room. Either the King's confidence in the oaths that bound Murtagh was so great that he did not even consider the possibility of the Rider escaping, or he understood that his men stood no chance against Murtagh and Thorn anyway; perhaps it was both of these things.

To Murtagh's surprise, a faintly derisive smile appeared on the King's face. 'Remove that scowl from your face. You're not going to be punished.' Murtagh's incredulous expression appeared to increase his amusement. 'Forgive me, but I did not think that you would have played your part convincingly had you known the truth beforehand.' He turned his back on the Rider and stood opposite one of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were fixed on Murtagh's reflection in the murky glass. 'I have tried to enter Sared's mind to see if he truly does not know where Seleara can be found. But I have failed. So, I attempted to gain his trust, believing that with his guard down, he will let the truth slip. Therefore, I made him believe that searching his palace was your own initiative; and I pretended to punish you, making it seem like I had nothing to do with your actions.'

Galbatorix' explanation did not appease Murtagh's anger, but he forced a neutral expression onto his face nonetheless. 'But how can it be, sir, that you were unable to penetrate his mind?' he asked. He was well aware of what Galbatorix was capable of.

'I have also asked myself that question, because I know that no ordinary man would have been able to resist my power. And he, he is not even a magician, he is not an elf or a Rider, he is human! So how could he have done this?' the king paused and glanced at Murtagh, as if expecting him to answer. The Rider remained silent, despite having an idea of where Galbatorix was heading with this. The older man continued: 'I believe that this is an effect of Seleara. I am now more certain of its existence than ever. Especially after Sared himself told me something very curious…'

'He admitted that he had Seleara?' Murtagh inquired, curious despite himself.

'Not exactly. He said that on the night when Eragon burst into Geoulnaresque, as he flew away, Sared saw him holding something that resembled a flower which glowed even through the darkness. Apparently he had not told me sooner because he had only recently realized what that object could have been,' Galbatorix scoffed. 'He thinks it was what Eragon came for, but he still denies that he had any knowledge of Seleara's whereabouts. I would have applied force to him a long time ago… it is a much more effective way of obtaining information than simply asking. But I suspect that the effect of Seleara on him would render torture useless.'

Murtagh tried not to look too disappointed.

'I do not understand one thing, however,' Galbatorix mused. 'What does Eragon – or the Varden, I should say - need Medea for? To use her against me? They would be foolish to believe that this would have any effect on me. Or perhaps she was not kidnapped at all,' he continued, his tone insinuative. 'As I recall, she had ran off with you two once before.' Murtagh willed himself not to react, as had become his habit. The slightest suspicion would cause Galbatorix to inspect his memories – something that, surprisingly, he had not done since Murtagh returned from Geoulnaresque. The king's sharp gaze lingered on him for a moment before he continued. 'But that matters little to me. I need you to pay the Varden a visit. Bring Medea back, if she is still alive. And bring Nasuada, the leader of the Varden, too. I doubt that you will have the opportunity to search for Seleara there, Eragon and his dragon will get in your way; instead, we will force its location from Nasuada. So take her and Medea, and leave. Do not linger.'

* * *

Just as Medea started to believe that Nasuada had forgotten about her existence after her arrival a few days previously, the Varden's leader sent a messenger to her tent, asking to see her. As she followed the boy across the camp to Nasuada's pavilion, Medea repeated her fabricated story in her head for the hundredth time, reminding herself of every fact and minor detail that she was supposed to know. The need to constantly keep up her new identity was tiring, especially since it was so different from reality. She hadn't gotten used to it yet.

Somewhere ahead of her, a dragon roared deafeningly. A few moments later, Saphira emerged from the opposite direction, making one thing clear: the roar did not belong to her.

* * *

**A.N.: Thank you for the reviews, guys, you are awesome!**

hpswst101 – **haha I laughed at your comment about Sared's little pedestal – that's how I see it as well!**

Lobo de Fuego – **thank you so much! I also hated Murtagh's part in the book, but I think I will exploit it for extra drama hehe. But don't worry, eventually it will turn out differently from what Paolini did. And I'm so glad that you like my portrayal of Murtagh and Medea – I was actually really worried that she would be unlikeable because she's an OC. But I guess it turned out ok!:)**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The ground shook as Thorn's colossal paws touched it. The men he carried in the rigging strapped to his sides scattered across the camp, attacking the soldiers of the Varden. Those men who were unarmed dashed to their tents, hastily retrieving their weapons; some were killed right there, as the enemy soldiers stabbed them through the fabric of the tents. Medea automatically reached for her left hip, before remembering that she didn't carry a sword anymore. She hadn't intended to fight Murtagh and Thorn, she would have been no match for them anyway. But she would have had a fair chance of defending herself against the soldiers who came with them; she didn't count on all of them to recognise her as the daughter of their king, and thus not to attack her. They seemed crazed, mindless, indifferent about whom they killed.

Medea quickly moved out of the centre of the commotion. From her new position, she saw Murtagh dismounting and heading towards Nasuada's pavilion, just before Eragon and Saphira swooped down on Thorn. No one stopped Murtagh – the lifeless bodies of several Nighthawks lay sprawled across the blood-stained ground in front of the pavilion, and the rest were probably inside with Nasuada. She must have been the red Rider's target, and the chance that her guards could protect her seemed slim. Medea looked around for Eragon, and, although she easily spotted Saphira high up in the air, her Rider was not on her back anymore - she was fighting Thorn on her own.

There was no time to try to find Eragon. Following an impulse, Medea ran towards the pavilion, driven by the faint hope that she could somehow use Murtagh's inability to hurt her to prevent him from killing Nasuada, or anyone else. However unlikely the idea seemed, she could not merely stand by and watch without even attempting to help.

She had almost reached the entrance to the pavilion when Murtagh emerged from it, dragging Nasuada through the dirt. He knocked her unconscious with the pommel of his sword, ending her attempts to twist herself free. He looked up, directly at Medea, and took a step towards her, letting go of Nasuada; but Medea reached him first.

'Don't do this! You are better than that!' She shouted over the clamour that surrounded them.

'I can't disobey a direct order!' He retorted, his voice betraying both anger and regret. When he looked at her, his expression was almost pleading. As if he was willing her to understand. She did understand. But she could not accept it.

He started lifting his sword – to finish Nasuada off, Medea assumed. She gripped his arm. 'Please,' she implored. Concurrently, she heard Eragon's voice behind her, yelling at her to get away from Murtagh; but she stayed stubbornly where she was. For a second, Murtagh did not move either. Then, unexpectedly gently, he removed her hand from his arm, without letting it go. 'I'm sorry,' he said. And, before she could react, he brought his sword down on her.

And darkness enveloped her.

* * *

Medea was vaguely aware of being carefully lifted up and carried somewhere, then being lowered onto a bed and covered with something warm. She sensed another person's presence near her but she could not quite shake off her slumber completely to see who it was, and soon she drifted back into sleep.

Murtagh hesitated before leaving Medea's chamber. He touched her temple, where he had struck her with the pommel of the Zar'roc, checking if it left a bruise, and felt some relief after discovering that it didn't. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but since she wouldn't come quietly, he had no other choice.

During the journey to Uru'baen, Murtagh's thoughts were occupied by her words. _You are better than that. _She said that, having seen the blood on his clothes, none of which was his, the coldness of his eyes as his sword cut short someone's life, as he dragged Nasuada behind him; she said that despite the cruel indifference with which he had spoken to her the last time they met, aiming to push her away. Murtagh could tell that she was angry at him, and yet she still believed that he was _better than that_. And perhaps he was. It was true that his actions were the result of his inability to defy Galbatorix's orders.

Murtagh had almost accepted the idea that he would never be free from Galbatorix, blocking out the glimmers of hope that he still had, unwilling to encourage himself pointlessly only to be disappointed time after time. Medea's words crushed his efforts. She sought to shame him, to remind him why he loathed his servitude so much - she succeeded, making it all the more harder for Murtagh to face reality once again: there was no way out for him and Thorn. At least, none that they could see.

With a last glance at Medea, Murtagh left the room. He was expected in the Hall of the Soothsayer.

* * *

Medea awoke to a piercing scream. Confused and disorientated, she lay still, trying to remember where she was, before a second scream made her sit up and fumble around for a candle to light up the dark room. Finding nothing, she crawled out of bed and moved towards the visible strip of light under the door, bumping into furniture along the way. After discovering that she slept while being fully dressed, – but barefoot, - she tiptoed out into the corridor and stood still, waiting for the noise to recommence in order to determine where it was coming from. Concurrently, Medea recognised her surroundings and realised that she was in her father's castle at Uru'baen. Before she had time to consider why she was brought there and not to Geoulnaresque, a long, pitiful wail followed, and she walked quickly in the direction from which it seemed to come. Until a painfully familiar voice made her whirl around.

'Hello, Medea,' Sared said.

Did he only just emerge from the maze of corridors, seeing Medea by chance, or had he been watching her all this time, following her silently? Was she imagining the sadistic pleasure on his face as he saw the combination of bewilderment and fury on hers? Once again, Medea regretted not having a weapon.

'Surprised to see me?' Sared enquired with a sly smirk.

She was. She didn't expect to encounter him at Uru'baen. She had guessed that he was alive after she saw that his servants stayed at Geoulnaresque, but she thought that he would do the same. She hoped he would.

'What are you doing here?' Medea said out loud, her voice hard.

'Well, since your friend Murtagh destroyed my palace, I am living here until it is rebuilt. Once it is, _we_,' he stretched out the word, emphasizing it, 'will go back there. And before you say you won't go, let me remind you that you don't have a choice.'

The fact that he was right angered Medea even more. She crossed the short distance between them and peered up at him. 'I'll go. But believe me, the second I get a chance, _I will kill you_,' she spit out. 'And that's not an empty threat.'

'Oh, I'm sure you mean it,' Sared replied condescendingly. Medea almost expected him to pat her on the head.

That was how little threat he thought she posed to him, and it threw her for a second. But only for a second.

Only after she had stormed off, marching back to her room and locking the door behind her, Medea suddenly remembered a change in Sared's appearance that she didn't focus on in the heat of the moment. Now, with his face cemented in her mind, she recalled the lines around his eyes that weren't there before and realized what changed about him. It was as if he had aged by several years.

* * *

**A.N.: I just realized that I structured the early chapters in a really dumb way because I didn't plan the story in advance, so Murtagh never reached the Varden or met Nasuada. Obviously they've seen and heard of each other, but that seems to be it. So I guess we'll have to assume that they meet each other for the first time in this chapter. Anyway, thank you for your reviews, and thank you to the huge number of people who added this story to their favourites, this always makes my day!**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Since her return, Medea had mostly been left to her own devices. Galbatorix had summoned her only once, questioning her about whether she saw Eragon taking anything from Geoulnaresque, to which she truthfully replied that she was unconscious, and saw nothing. She did lie when he asked what the Varden wanted with her, claiming to have been left in a tent for several days without being sent for. After every answer that Medea gave, Galbatorix paused before speaking himself, his black eyes burrowing into her probingly all the while, as if to unnerve her. As if he already knew the answer to his questions. But, if he suspected that she didn't tell him the truth, he said nothing.

After that occasion, the only brief communication Medea had was with the servants who brought her food, since her usual companion, Barbale, was still at Geoulnaresque. _'She must be worried sick about me,' _Medea thought with a pang of guilt. She hadn't even thought to send Barbale a message to let her know that she was all right.

Medea wasn't confined to her room, but whenever she went outside, into the castle grounds, one of the guards stationed at the door followed. Not having much else to do, she would often watch the soldiers training. Sometimes she saw Murtagh among them, sometimes on his own. His eyes would flicker to her face momentarily, and then he would turn away without acknowledging her.

The screaming that Medea heard during the first night in Uru'baen had not repeated for the next few days. If she hadn't witnessed Murtagh dragging Nasuada out of her pavilion, she could have assumed that the noise was made by a servant who was being punished, perhaps; it could not have been a soldier because the voice clearly belonged to a woman. At that moment, Medea believed that Murtagh was going to kill the leader of the Varden, but, having thought it over, came to the conclusion that he could have done so while they were both inside the pavilion - why would he take her outside just to finish her off? He knocked Medea unconscious before she could see what he did to Nasuada, but now she was fairly sure that she knew what happened.

It appeared that Nasuada had been brought to Uru'baen and, apparently, tortured. The fact that she hadn't made a sound in days most likely indicated her death. And Medea carried on believing that, until information from an unlikely source proved otherwise.

She took her meals alone, either in her own chamber or in a dining room near the kitchens, in which neither Galbatorix nor Sared ever ate. So it came as a surprise to her when, looking up from her plate, she saw Sared standing in the doorway. Medea's first urge was to get up and leave; but, knowing that it would only amuse him further, she willed herself to ignore him, instead concentrating on manically cutting the meat on her plate into small pieces. However, out of the corner of her eye she could see that Sared was not leaving, and, unable to control her irritation, she exploded: 'WHAT?'

He grinned, sliding into a chair on the opposite side of the table. 'You're a little jumpy. Is something bothering you?'

Medea groaned with frustration and stood up, intending to leave; his next words, however, made her pause. 'By the way, your friend Murtagh should be more careful about what he does when he thinks no one is watching. I _shudder_ to think what would happen if Galbatorix found out.'

'What are you talking about?' Medea demanded.

'I saw him helping that girl, the prisoner, more than once. Healing the wounds inflicted on her by torture, by the looks of it. I don't know what they were talking about because there is a spell on the room that makes it impossible to hear what is going on inside. But I wouldn't be surprised if Murtagh is trying to help her escape. They seemed… friendly,' he added innocently.

'You're a liar.' Medea folded her hands over her chest almost defensively. 'Why would Murtagh risk punishment to help someone he doesn't even know?'

Sared shrugged. 'You can see for yourself if you go to the Hall of the Soothsayer at night.'

'So you can have a reason to make up some lie about me, too? Tell my father that I'm also associating with the prisoner?'

Sared sighed exaggeratedly, getting up from his seat. As he brushed past Medea, he said in a low voice: 'I hardly need a reason for that.'

* * *

Despite Medea's suspicion that she was walking right into a trap, her curiosity still led her to the Hall of the Soothsayer that night. She knew that she would not be able to stop thinking about the possibility that Sared was telling the truth unless she checked.

She approached quietly and peered around the corner to see if there were any guards stationed by the door - surprisingly, there were none. _'This is too convenient,' _her voice of reason piped up. Sared would probably appear as soon as she approached the door, bringing the guards and Galbatorix, and claiming that she was trying to break Nasuada out. Medea didn't know what other motive he could have had in leading her to the Hall.

She stood looking at the door uncertainly, contemplating returning to her room, when she caught sight of someone through the small barred window at the top of the door. The person turned their head towards Medea and her heart sank as she recognised Murtagh's profile. Sared was telling the truth.

Murtagh's lips were moving, but Medea couldn't see who he was talking to or hear what he was saying. Then he moved out of sight and she quickly walked towards the door, peering cautiously through the window into the room.

Murtagh was sitting on the floor next to the emaciated and heavily bruised Nasuada. Her hands covered her face; her body was shaking with sobs. The stab of pity that Medea felt for her was replaced by confusion when she saw Murtagh gently putting his arm around Nasuada's shoulders as she leaned against him.

'They seemed _friendly_,' Sared had said. Medea ignored his words and his suggestive tone then, considering the idea ridiculous. Now, as comprehension dawned on her, she dug her nails into her palms until her knuckles turned white.

* * *

It was late evening when Eragon heard Arya's voice just outside his tent, quietly calling his name. 'Come in,' he replied, immediately alert. Unless something important had happened, Arya probably would have waited until morning to visit him.

She entered, and Eragon quickly removed several scrolls from a chair before inviting her to sit down. 'I apologize for disturbing you,' Arya said. 'But we have just received a message that you should know about. It was sent by one of Prince Sared's servants - she says that she has Seleara, and she is willing to give it to us.'

'_What?_ How did a servant get it?' Eragon asked incredulously.

'We can ask her. She has requested to be brought to the Varden, and with your permission, I will send for her.'

'It could be a trap.'

'What purpose would setting up a trap like that achieve, unless you went there yourself? I think you will agree that a few men of the Varden should be sent instead.'

'And why does this woman want to come to the Varden?' Eragon asked, still doubtful.

'She did not say. Perhaps she wants to escape Geoulnaresque, like the servant girl whom you brought here. I don't think that she is a spy,' Arya added, correctly guessing Eragon's suspicion. 'A spy wouldn't give Seleara to us.'

Eragon silently considered the risks and the possibilities before replying. 'The chance that she is telling the truth is too important to ignore,' he admitted. 'Very well. We will send for her.'

* * *

**A.N.:  
**hpswst101 - **thanks for your review! haha I could have given Medea some ridiculous super power to fight off all those kidnappers, but I thought maybe not ;)  
**Lobo de Fuego – **thank you so much! I'll hand it to Paolini, though, he writes all kinds of action scenes really well and I find it a bit challenging, so I hope I don't disappoint you later on :)**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The flower of immortality glimmered softly in the semi-darkness of Eragon's tent. The dragon rider was kneeling on the floor next to the transparent box that held Seleara; opposite him sat Arya, the fascination on her face mirroring his own. Neither of them had completely believed that Seleara truly existed until they saw it with their own eyes, and for a long moment they were too mesmerised to speak.

'Will you destroy it?' Barbale asked. She had remained so quiet that Eragon had already forgotten about her presence.

Barbale had been one of Sared's servants. Having discovered that he had Seleara in his possession, she stole it, after which she contacted the Varden and offered it to them. When Arya asked, somewhat suspiciously, how Barbale managed to find out where Seleara was, the old woman told them that she had twice seen a faint glow coming from the window of Sared's chamber that appeared for just a few moments before fading. As she peered through the window one night, she saw Sared kneeling on the floor with his back to her, concealing whatever he was doing from sight. The next day, driven by curiosity and suspicion, she discovered the niche where Seleara was hidden in the same spot, and later took it in the confusion following Eragon's arrival at Geoulnaresque. Eragon found it hard to believe that Sared could have been careless enough to place the thing that he tried so hard to keep secret in a place where it could have been found so easily, but he said nothing at the time.

It hadn't been hard for Barbale to sneak out of the palace a few days later, taking the flower with her – because of the prince's absence, the palace guards barely bothered to do their duty, being more interested in the content of their wineskins. Besides, they knew that the servants were unlikely to attempt escape - some of them had nowhere else to go and others did not dare to face the dangers of the desert.

'Yes. We will. Though it is a waste to destroy such a miracle,' Eragon replied hesitantly. He did not want to share too much information with Barbale, but he could hardly avoid the question. Despite – or rather because of – her willingness to hand Seleara over to the Varden when she could have kept it, he was wary of her. Something was telling him that a selfless desire to help the Varden was not Barbale's motive.

'It is necessary,' Arya said curtly, although her voice held a trace of regret.

Barbale simply nodded before turning to Eragon. 'Might I speak with you alone, Dragon Rider?'

He glanced at Arya, who nodded in understanding and slipped gracefully out of the tent without a word. As always, Eragon felt a pang of disappointment as he watched her walk away. 'What was it that you wanted to talk about?' he asked Barbale, pushing the unwelcome thoughts to the back of his mind.

'I haven't told you the whole truth.'

'_I knew it!'_ Eragon said triumphantly to Saphira. The dragon was brooding outside; Eragon insisted that she had to stop trying to poke her head inside the tent to take a look at Seleara, as the attempt almost made the structure collapse.

But Barbale's confession wasn't what Eragon was expecting.

'I was the nurse of princess Medea,' she admitted. 'I came with her to Geoulnaresque. I watched you carry her away.' Although they were alone in the tent, Barbale lowered her voice to almost a whisper. 'And I thought… perhaps if I gave Seleara to you, you might release her… She told me that Murtagh came looking for it, and because you arrived on the same day, I assumed that you were searching for it as well. This is why you took Medea, is it not? Because you thought that she knew where the flower is?'

'I _was_ looking for Seleara, but that's not why I took Medea with me. She didn't want to stay there.' Eragon hesitated, deliberating on whether to tell Barbale the whole truth, and decided against it. The old nurse seemed upset enough. 'And she hasn't been harmed at the Varden, I promise you… But she isn't here anymore. Murtagh has taken her.'

Evidently, the news of this hadn't reached Geoulnaresque. The shadow of hope on Barbale's weary face faded away as quickly as it had appeared. Attempting to comfort her, Eragon hastened to add, 'But if the Varden's plans are successful, you will see Medea soon - and you will never have to worry about her safety again. You have my word.'

* * *

Medea's day had certainly not been improved by Sared's decision to pay her a visit. Her fear of him had subsided by then, partly due to the fact that she was always shadowed by a guard; one was stationed outside her room when Sared entered, and she could call him if need be. Medea wasn't afraid for herself. She was safe, whereas Murtagh was not.

'So, did you see them?' Sared asked with a characteristic sneer.

Medea knew that she couldn't deny knowing what he was talking about; she couldn't deny the fact that Murtagh had done anything wrong – Sared knew the truth.  
'Close the door,' she told him coldly instead.

'That's sensible. We don't want the guard to hear all about our friend's adventures,' Sared said gleefully before doing as she asked.

'At least one of us is enjoying this,' Medea retorted. 'What do you want, Sared? If you wanted to tell my father what Murtagh is doing, you would have done so already. Instead you told me, and I don't suppose you did it out of the goodness of your heart.'

'No, no exactly,' he agreed easily. 'You took Seleara from me. I want it back.' His tone was no longer mocking but oddly urgent; he seemed to have grown tired of his charade. Without meaning to, Medea riveted her gaze on his trembling fingers. Was it a trick of the light, or were his hands covered with a web of lines?

'So you _did_ have it,' Medea exclaimed incredulously, too distracted by the revelation - and by what it implied – to register his accusation right away. Eragon did tell her about the possibility that Seleara was in Sared's possession, but she couldn't help doubting that it was truly so. And if Sared had the flower of immortality… did he use its power?

'Stop acting as if you know nothing about it!' Sared snapped impatiently. 'It disappeared on the same night as you. Are you saying it's just a… a…' he flinched and staggered, grabbing blindly at a chair. No sooner had he sank into it than a violent shudder shook his body and he fell on the floor with a groan. Medea was about to call the guard but only a horrified cry escaped her lips when she saw Sared's eyes sinking back into his skull, his dark hair fading into grey before falling out in clumps, his now transparent skin exposing the bulging veins below. He never stopped screaming.

The door was flung open and people – guards, Medea assumed - rushed inside, alerted by the screams. Medea was in a stupor, unable to tear her gaze away from Sared, as sickening as the sight was. A familiar voice uttered a string of curses behind her and she felt strong hands gripping her shoulders, forcing her to turn away. She was vaguely aware that she was trembling, and that Murtagh was whispering something to her, trying to calm her as Sared's cries faded away. Medea let herself be led out of the room, but when she reached the door, she glanced back at what was left of Sared. A guard was leaning over him, partially shielding him from view, but Medea still saw the grinning skull on the floor.

* * *

'I thought you would want to sleep somewhere else tonight,' Murtagh told Medea, leading her into an unused bedroom.

He said nothing about Sared. Medea didn't bring the subject up either. Her hatred for Sared prevented her from being sorry for his death – it was the way in which he died that stunned her. And although she was itching to ask Murtagh if he knew what happened to Sared, she saw that he was avoiding the subject and she knew him well enough to understand that this meant he wouldn't tell her anything.

But there was something that Medea couldn't keep silent about. 'Sared saw you with Nasuada. Be more careful next time if you don't want anyone else to find out what you're doing.' The remark didn't come out as calmly as she had intended; she sounded almost resentful. Medea wasn't even sure if she had spoken to warn Murtagh or out of a pointless, childish desire to show him that she knew about him and Nasuada.

Murtagh's expression went from shocked to defensive. 'Has he told anyone else about this?'

'I don't think so.'

He seemed to be deliberating over whether or not to tell her more. 'Nasuada is a good person. I couldn't stand by and do nothing to help her,' he explained somewhat reluctantly.

'So that's all there is to it?' Medea blurted out before she could stop herself. When Murtagh looked at her searchingly, she wished she hadn't spoken.

'What else would there be?'

'I saw you,' she admitted grudgingly. When he didn't seem to understand her meaning, she added, 'And it didn't look like you were just _helping_ her.'

Murtagh considered that for a moment before realising what Medea was talking about. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth curved up slightly. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you were…'

'Finish that sentence and you will die horribly.'

'…jealous,' he concluded, taking a step towards her, as if challenging her to carry out her threat.

It seemed surreal. There was a time when such banter would have been nothing out of the ordinary for them, but a long time had passed since then, long enough for them to become strangers. And yet here they were, suddenly acting almost like their old selves, as if, in that moment, they had forgotten everything that happened since.

And then the only thought left in Medea's head was that Murtagh was standing too close, looking at her too intently. Heat rushed to her cheeks when he murmured: 'Are you?' _Are you jealous?_

A knock on the door made them jump away from each other.

* * *

**A.N.: I have essays to write every week at the moment, which is why I don't have that much time to work on the story, BUT I'm almost finished! Thank you to my long-suffering readers, as always, and also thank you, everyone, for your reviews:) I had some doubts about this chapter but I hope it's not too bad.**

**Just want to reply to the question asked by **Restrained Freedom**: ****I already PMd you, but just in case others might have the same question... Murtagh hasn't met Nasuada since he never reached the Varden; he's helping her because this is partly his way of seeking redemption for his past actions. But he HAS met Eragon.**

hpswst101 **–I was just trying to think of a name for my main character, and I randomly remembered the myth of Medea and how she betrayed her father for Jason. I thought that this is similar to how this story begins, so I decided to use the name Medea. I wasn't intending for her to go berserk though:)**

Lobo de Fuego **- Noo, you're awesome!:) I always look forward to your reviews!**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

'It is done,' Eragon said, tearing his gaze away from the pile of ash. Ironically, the flower of immortality proved to be astonishingly easy to destroy. After the flames devoured it, Eragon stared at its remains suspiciously for a while, hesitant to believe that a fire spell was all that had been required.

He turned to Arya uncertainly. 'Should we get rid of the ashes as well? Perhaps they also have magical properties?'

Arya glanced at the ash doubtfully, but agreed, 'I suppose we can't be too careful.' She emptied her flask of its contents and moved past Eragon to kneel on the ground by the remains of Seleara. 'This will have to do as a container for the ash,' she explained. 'I suggest we throw it into Tüdosten Lake when we pass it.'

Eragon nodded in agreement. The Varden had begun its march on Uru'baen, and the lake lay in their path. The thought that he would soon be rid of Seleara entirely brought Eragon immense relief – it meant that he had one less problem to deal with.

* * *

Murtagh's first impulse was to stab the guard in the face. He couldn't have chosen a more inconvenient time to show up, declaring that he was told to escort Murtagh to Galbatorix urgently.

Medea looked at Murtagh, raising an eyebrow in silent question, but he knew no more than she did. He had expected Galbatorix to summon _her_, as she was the last person who spoke to Sared – given the king's obsession with Seleara, he would probably want to know if Sared said anything to her about the flower's whereabouts before he died. Undoubtedly, Galbatorix knew what caused Sared's death; he once showed Murtagh a book which described - in gruesome detail - the result of the withdrawal of Seleara. Still, even this was unlikely to persuade the king to abandon his search.

'_But do you remember, you told me that the book said he would age and die gradually?' _Thorn said suddenly. _'And he didn't.'_

'_Nothing else could have done that to him, Thorn. The book must have been wrong about this.'_

As Murtagh followed the guard down the corridor, his thoughts drifted to another topic. He had to acknowledge that it was a good thing that the man came when he did, interrupting… whatever _that _was. This was exactly why he had tried to stay away from Medea. _'All I had to do was walk her to her room and what the blazes did I end up doing?!'  
_Thorn remained tactfully silent.

When Murtagh saw the corpse of the man he hated, his only thought was that Medea didn't belong to Sared anymore. She didn't belong to _him_, either, and she never would, as long as Galbatorix lived. But Murtagh would no longer be consumed by rage at the idea of someone else having her, and at the time it almost seemed enough.

But when he saw his own yearning reflected in her gaze, felt the closeness of her body, heard her voice dripping with resentment at the mention of Nasuada, betraying her jealousy – the same jealousy that _he _used to feel… he knew it was _not _enough, and the thought pushed all remaining reason out of his mind.

_'Stop it, you damn fool, stop thinking about it!'_

Murtagh forced himself to think of his promise to Nasuada. He said he would help her, and that should have been his priority. It was a tentative attempt to earn some redemption for the things he had done at Galbatorix's command, a chance to relieve his guilt for the harm he had caused Nasuada.  
Even if he and Thorn were doomed to be enslaved by Galbatorix until the end of their days, Murtagh would try to save Nasuada from sharing the same fate. He thought he had the means to do it, but he also needed an opportunity.

Not too long ago, Murtagh never would have risked his life – or Thorn's – for a stranger. Much had changed. He sometimes recalled Medea saying he was _better than that. _Her words had a bigger impact than she knew.

The guard who was accompanying Murtagh stopped at the door of the throne room, leaving him to go in alone.

Shruikan raised his head at Murtagh's approach, letting out a low growl. He seemed more agitated than usual, continuously bringing his enormous tail down on the floor in what seemed like irritation. Galbatorix's spells seem to have been the only thing preventing the dragon from crushing it.

Galbatorix's mood appeared to mirror that of his dragon. His black-clad figure was illuminated by the the lanterns, his face contorted with rage. When Murtagh approached, the king raised his head, fixating his hard stare on the Rider. 'Seleara has been destroyed.'

Murtagh was not expecting that. He opened his mouth to speak but Galbatorix silenced him with a gesture. 'Nothing else could have killed Sared. Death caused by withdrawal would have been different. No, it must have been destroyed. Sared told me that the Varden had it, but the girl would not talk... I could have sworn that she knew nothing. I assumed that Sared was lying to me.'

'Perhaps the Varden found Seleara only recently, sir,' Murtagh said evenly, attempting to inconspicuously divert the king's anger from Nasuada.

'Or perhaps the wench's lies have cost me my immortality!' Galbatorix bellowed. 'I believe it is time for another visit to our guest,' he spat out the word, making it sound like an insult. 'I would like to express my... disappointment in her.'

Murtagh knew all too well what that meant.

* * *

At first Medea waited, perched tensely on the edge of her bed, expecting Murtagh to come back and explain what was going on. And possibly to continue their…conversation. It left her with even more questions, and she could not answer them herself. The little patience she had soon wore thin, however.

'Typical!' she complained. Normally Barbale would serve as her unenthusiastic audience, but Barbale wasn't there. 'It wouldn't be Murtagh if he didn't drive me INSANE!'

A guard poked his head into the room, looking slightly disturbed. 'Is everything all right, my lady?'

'YES!' Medea shouted back, and the door closed quickly.

She didn't see Murtagh for the rest of the day. When she attempted to leave the room, she found that she could not. 'The king's orders,' the guard on duty told her gruffly.

'What is the reason for these orders?' Medea demanded.

'No reason was given, my lady.'

The only thing Medea could do was to go back to her room and slam the door.

Galbatorix had never kept her locked in a room before, and she wondered briefly if it was because he suspected her of being responsible for Sared's death, but dismissed the idea – if he was told of the manner of the Prince's death, surely he understood that Medea could not have caused it. This was about something else.

Days passed without her seeing anyone except servants. Once, Medea thought she heard Murtagh's voice outside, but he left without speaking to her. She wondered if he was forbidden to see her or if he chose not to.

This continued until one morning she was woken by the sound of a horn.  
The signal of alarm.

* * *

**A.N.: Sorry this took so long, I had to study for my exams, and I have more coming up... The next chapter should be the last one.**

**Eragon's trip to the Vault of Souls takes place off stage, after he destroys Seleara.  
****Murtagh and Nasuada's relationship differs from how it was in the book, and I hope it still makes sense that he would want to help her. **

**As always, I'd love to know what you guys think!**


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